Peace and Pieces

“Here I am, rushing around, but you’re so peaceful.”

“You give me peace and energy.”

Completely separate from each other, two friends told me these words in one day.

Later in the week, I had an English lesson with a new student for the first time. We were telling each other about ourselves, and I said that I am not a nun even though some people think I am when they see my veil. Further, I love the Bible and Jesus–that Jesus is my hero, and I try to live like He did. Except that when I hear myself say that, I cringe because it sounds so audacious.

Then my student volunteered an observation: “I like how you are happy when you talk about Jesus. I think it should be this way. Most people look angry and sad when they are in church. That’s why I don’t go anymore.”

It seems to me that those conversations and observations are connected. I am not by nature placid or serene. There are many things that deeply distress and anger and unsettle me. I don’t live in utopia; my life is wonderful but not perfect or without storms.

The peace my friends saw wasn’t something I concoct.  Which is a good thing because otherwise it would be limited to about as long as my cup of coffee lasts in the morning.  The best thing about  God’s peace is that it’s beyond, higher than, and superior to logic. It’s something I can’t put words to, can’t explain, can’t even quantify except to say that it’s bigger than anything around me–anything that would otherwise discombobulate me.

What my friends see as peace is actually like me being wrapped in a thick fuzzy blanket. I think it has something to do with Jesus being my hero. He keeps me from going to pieces.

Connect the Dots isn’t a Game!

My English student is a graphic designer and once showed me how she uses that Apple gizmo to make these amazing professional advertisements. This is the lady who’s my age,  studied artistic dance in university, and is a most creative student in the way she describes a word she wants to use but doesn’t know.   She loves all things Apple. From her,  I first heard about Steve Jobs, and afterwards, promptly found his famous Stanford commencement address, and liked it. Liked it very much, really.

I especially liked how he showed how demotions and perceived failures can actually turn out to be good. They can even benefit you sometimes. Such as when he was fired from Apple which pushed him to start Pixar Animation Studios.

Last week I was meandering down the street, licking my last ice cream cone of the season, celebrating the sunshine and my free afternoon. I wheeled around when I heard my name shouted behind me–something that pretty much never happens here–, and it was my graphic designer student! I’d not seen her since early summer, since she had a baby last month, and I’d been missing her, and I shouted her name and hugged her delightedly.

We walked across the street to her parked car to admire her baby and touch his cheeks, and talk about how her life has changed since his birth. Standing in the sun, licking a cone, talking with a student/friend, I somehow felt incredibly rich.

The next day, Steve Jobs died. Not that the two events are connected, but for me, these two people are connected in my mind: Steve Jobs and my student.

In that Stanford speech, Mr. Jobs talked about how one choice affects a million things later.  Maybe that’s why one of the most useful prayers for anyone is for wisdom for them to make good choices.  And maybe that’s part of the fun we’ll have when we’re old and can see how the dots in our stories connect to make something meaningful and beautiful. God did say it would all fit into a good pattern, didn’t He?

I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents’ savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn’t see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn’t interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.

It wasn’t all romantic. I didn’t have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends’ rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn’t have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can’t capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it’s likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.       –Steve Jobs

 

What is Real?

What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

 

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

 

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

 

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

 

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

 

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

 

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

“The Boy’s Uncle made me Real,” he said. “That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real, you can’t become unreal. It lasts for always.”

 

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

–Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Be Real

To thine ownself be true–what does that mean? What does it mean to be yourself, no plastic ways, no personas, but to be authentic?

I don’t have final answers about it, but it seems to me that being authentic is connected to aligning ourselves with the way God intended for us to live and I know  His design is perfect and beautiful, not self-serving or muddy. I think that to be authentic means walking toward His design, living in simplicity and honesty, not needing props to hold up our image.

An article here on Her.meneutics gives some food for thought:

…my entire life has been a struggle to get out from behind the faces I put on: I want to be perceived as having it all together, as being the perfect wife, as being an intelligent Christian woman, as being compassionate, kind, and inspirational. I have justified my slavery to these goals because they are mostly noble, but the method is entirely wrong. When rooted in a desire to be liked rather than in the spirit of Christ, each one of these “fruits” is an illusion, a fake.

This leads me to my second point about authenticity: It can only be had in Christ. C. S. Lewis wrote, “Until you have given up your self to Him you will not have a real self. . . . The very first step is to try to forget about the self altogether. You real, new self will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him. . . . Christ will indeed give you a real personality.”

Lewis makes this statement as one who understands the deceptiveness and destructiveness of sin. Only God knows who we really are — that is, who he created each one of us to be. Sin leads us to construct alternative versions of ourselves, selves we prefer, selves that are more comfortable, selves that bring us the most glory. We may try to construct selves that will honor God, but even our best intentions will be perverted when working off a manmade blueprint.

In Christ, however, we become our true selves. God opens our eyes to our sins, to the self-deception, to the things in our lives that are not of him. Then he transforms us, conforming us to the only perfect human being who ever lived. In Christ, we stop operating according to the constraints of social expectations, personal insecurities, and lies. Rather than live in ways that are subhuman, we finally live in a manner worthy of God’s vision for humanity.

That is authenticity. It is a “human being fully alive” (Irenaeus). It is not built in a day, nor is it maintained easily. Like humility, realizing we are closer to it ensures that we will lose it. Yet the nature of authenticity is also good news. Because authenticity cannot be faked, because it does not, ironically, rest in our natural selves, our only option for being truly authentic people is to lose ourselves, casting ourselves on Christ’s mercy, joyfully acknowledging that Christ’s power is made perfect in weakness. The more we realize our desperate state and need of God’s grace, the more authentically human we will be.

Simple Prayers, Simple Joys

It’s a mystery to me, how prayer affects things. How do our words move God? Is prayer like a spiritual power source that you can turn on and off like a switch? Whatever it is, it IS effective, somehow. I see mine answered, and see others’ answered for me.

Recently a friend wrote these lines to me: I have this sixth sense that you’re struggling… but I’m not sure what is causing the struggle… I pray God fills your days with simple joys and abiding contentment.

This is a little list of the many simple joys and deep contentment that have come from her prayers:

–I was working at school, alone and lonely, going bonkers with the silence. My friend called and asked if I want to meet for iced coffee. DID I?! And we even did it the cheap way–she made it and brought it to me (ice and milk, no sugar) and sat and we drank together as long as I needed to talk. Which was considerable.

–Little fingers on four little hands, using face crayons all over my hands and arms, feet and legs. I was keeping two girls quiet during a ladies’ discussion session, and found the perfect way to occupy them. I was especially proud of my multi-colored toe nails and the long striped flag on one shin. I loved watching their busy girlishness and creativity.

–A pastel sunset and tree silhouettes mirrored in the water at  my favourite thinking spot. Crisp air, and two friends with me, sometimes talking, sometimes quiet.

–Laughter with my English students. Their giggles over mistakes, and amusement over new words that tickled their funny bone, like “loafer” and “flip-flop.”

–Sitting on the couch with my Polish teacher and feeling her touch my arm as she spoke. She didn’t know it, but her finger on my arm and shoulder helped me relax. Later, she fed me Polish pancakes with apples and cinnamon outside on the swing as evening fell softly around us.

–Bright smiles from strangers.

–An email message permeated with sarcasm, ended with an emoticon with the tongue sticking out. The cyber-space camaraderie felt priceless. Never thought I’d get anything from an emoticon, but what was that about prayer changing things?

Things I Don’t Understand

1. How cars work.

2. Why people talk about the weather.

3. Facebook.

4. How civilized people can break their marriage vows and remarry and say God is in it.

5. Why it’s easier to understand Polish than to speak it.

6. How bright turquoises and reds and fuchsias soothe my soul.

7. Why reading Schindler’s List is harrowing me more than when I toured Auschwitz.

7. Redemption.

8.  Why general society thinks any alternative lifestyle is acceptable, but a counter-culture Christian life-style is not.

9. God’s patience with the people who carry His reputation.

What He Wants Most

What we want most to receive is what He wants most to give. –Michael Card

Underlying and over-arching all our motives and goals, all our dreams and ideas of success is what He wants most to give us: Himself.

We want fellowship and friendship and intimacy, fearing separation, walls, dissonance. The terror of loneliness can paralyze us, making us go to any extent to avoid feeling alone, making us vow to never feel so miserable again.

We were not designed to live on solitary islands, and so we know deep down that something is wrong with the world whenever we feel isolated, something is amiss when we don’t belong.

I have been in places where I thought

 

I am

 

watching

 

this

 

from

 

another planet,

 

and

 

they

 

don’t have

 

any

 

air

 

here.

The suffocation of separation has an answer: Himself. He blows into the channels of the day, lifting and caressing, reviving and reassuring us that we are never alone, and what we fear is never reality, because we can never escape His persistent presence. Never, never, never.

I Wish…

…full gas tanks would stay full.

…children would be smiled at and have their hair tousled as much as they deserve.

…learning Polish would be easier.

… roads wouldn’t have pot-holes.

…I’d own a private ocean cove.

…cells wouldn’t mutate to form  tumors.

…there would be answers for every question.

…Business English wouldn’t be about business.

…we could see the real battle we’re in and that it’s bigger than any person.

…I could understand poetry.

…autumn wouldn’t mean the end of summer.

…women would live knowing they are beautiful without striving.

…I could remember how short life’s imperfections are compared to eternity’s perfection.

What If I Miss My Life Calling?

My wise writer friend Dorcas wrote an article here that is both simple and profound. All of us can go round and round, wondering if we made right decision yesterday or last month, wondering how we should make the next decision, wondering What Is God’s Will.

Today’s decisions do make a difference for tomorrow, and we need to think about consequences. That’s part of wisdom. But being finite, we will go crazy trying to do all the mental gymnastics of “What if…”  God tells us to ask Him for wisdom because He knows we could never be big enough or wise enough to figure it out alone. My goal is to live so that His peace is the umpire, calls the shots, and I can make decisions based on whether He gives peace about it.

Until heaven,  no one can plumb the depths of the question about  God’s sovereignty vs. man’s free will. Meanwhile, His peace is perfect, and His wisdom is great. And His virtues are always the right thing to choose.

Maybe what we see as the big life decisions of career and education and location are actually the small ones. The big decisions are the ones that transcend every place and relationship and job — integrity and kindness, mercy and generosity, love and joy and justice.

–Dorcas Smucker

Coconuts and Sandy Feet

Last week a friend came to my house and for a hostess gift, gave me a bag of fruit that included a fresh coconut. Because I don’t have a hammer in the house, I took the coconut to some young friends who freed it from its tough shell. Now I have the inside (the milk is dried up) and I want to try to grate it and use it for something toothsome. I’ve never used fresh coconut, so I’m eager to try.

The coconut made me think of when I was five years old. My parents took me and my two younger siblings in a pickup loaded with stuff, and drove from VA to El Salvador. My mom was creative in finding ways to pass the time–I remember little bags of M&M’s and crayons. I haven’t retained many details of the trip, but general impressions like the smell of gas at the filling stations and packing and unpacking at the border, and people speaking a language I couldn’t understand. I would take naps on the floor on the passenger side, my body in the shape of an L, with my legs between the seat and the door, and my sister between me and the seat.

My grandparents, aunts, and uncle lived at a children’s home in El Salvador, and this is where the coconut memory comes in. I remember watching my uncle, a young teen, shinny up a coconut tree and cut off a furry brown ball with the machete hanging from his belt. Down on the ground, he sliced off the top of the coconut with his machete and let us drink the milk inside. I don’t remember how it tasted, only the event.

Maybe my love of the open road and the next horizon started when I was five.  Maybe it’s in my genes from parents and grandparents who love globetrotting. I don’t know. I remember feeling peaceful and calm and happy, squished in that pickup, though I’m sure I was cross sometimes. I think I remember crying once because I was hot and miserable.

Sometimes my itchy feet get  me into trouble because although I’m fond of comfort, I’m not satisfied with just staying and settling into endless routine. Maybe sometime I’ll grow up and be ok with dailyness, and not pine for adventure  and new vistas every day. I have sandy feet too. I’ve traveled enough that I’ve been able to revisit some places, and that has its own thrill. Like traveling with my family and happening to drive past the church in Switzerland that was the live recording studio when I was with Faith Builders Chorale five years earlier.

One of my impossible dreams to have a sail boat. I know I could never actually do the work, but it’s a fun dream.  A friend suggested that I name it “Sandy Feet” which is a brilliant idea. It means I’ll always come back.