Category Archives: life

Calpurnia’s Wise Words

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One of the best things about (good) stories is that they tell you things without telling you.

Last night I was reading to my friend from To Kill a Mockingbird. She knows the story well enough to finish most of the sentences for me, but reading aloud or being read to is a perfect way to unwind at the end of a long day.

In the story last night, Calpurnia had taken Jem and Scout to her church and were debriefing:

That Calpurnia led a modest double life never dawned on me. The idea that she had a separate existence outside our household was a novel one, to say nothing of her having command of two languages.

“Cal,” I asked, “why do you talk nigger-talk to the –to your folks when you know it’s not right?”

“Well, in the first place, I’m black–”

“That doesn’t mean you hafta talk that way when you know better,” said Jem.

Calpurnia tilted her hat and scratched her head, then pressed her hat down carefully over her ears. “It’s right hard to say,” she said. “Suppose you and Scout talked colored-folks’ talk at home it’d be out of place, wouldn’t it? Now what if I talked white-folks’ talk at church, and with my neighbors? They’d think I was puttin’ on airs to beat Moses.”

“But Cal, you know better,” I said.

“It’s not necessary to tell all you know. It’s not ladylike–in the second place, folks don’t like to have somebody around knowin’ more than they do. It aggravates ’em. You’re not going to change any of them by talkin’ right, they’ve got to want to learn themselves, and when they don’t want to learn there’s nothing you can do but keep your mouth shut or talk their language.”

Quotes I Collected Today

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Ann Voskamp:I don’t believe in the resurrection of Christ when I live like all the painful things are all the final things.

David Wilkerson: All true passion is born out of anguish.

God: I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that the wicked turn from his way and live. (Ezekiel 33:11)
Do not rejoice when your enemy falls and do not let your heart be glad when he stumbles;
Or the LORD will see it and be displeased, and turn His anger away from him. (Proverbs 24:17,18)

His Perpetual Kaleidoscope

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For two consecutive nights, I watched the sun set in glory, in an alive pink that would be impossible to recapture on paper or canvas. Saturday night I saw it from a hill in Kaziemierz Dolny, a charming artsy town in Central Poland. The next night, we were driving home in the long dusk and watched the sunset from the car.

The spectacular, unrivaled brightness and color and drama reminded me of what Jerry Root said. I posted about it last year here.

“We could have lived on a dark planet. And been told that there would be one sunset. And we’d have lined every west coast of every continent and every island on the planet. And as we saw the glory of that event and tears came to our eyes, we’d have written about it in our journals and regaled our progeny with the glory of that event.

But what must God be like, that He has made our planet a perpetual kaleidoscope of sunrises and sunsets?!”

I imagine myself in a crowd lining a west coast and willing my memory to record every change of light and cloud, every blending and separating of colors as the golden fuschia sun, like a massive coin, dropped steadily toward the horizon. To have watched the sun set only one time would be to witness the most amazing phenomena ever.

What is God like, to give us a sunset every day?

He Does Show Up

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(A friend who wants to stay anonymous sent me this, and graciously agreed to let me share it as a guest post. I think what she has to say meets all of us at some point.)

Remember playing Hide-and-Seek with your friends when you were a kid? And sometimes you couldn’t find that hidden person, even when you knew that they were in the same vicinity as you were.

Then you grew up to become an adult. And sometimes now it feels like a game of Hide-and-Seek with Father God. You know He must be in your vicinity, but you can’t see Him. Your search into hidden corners and dark closets does not find Him. The frustration increases and the fun of the game falls flat. You just want Him to step out and move on to the next thing with you.

It’s no fun to be looking for Him and be unable to find Him.

I have two different friends who have complex court situations going on this week… Both of them righteous people, living uprightly. As this evening’s youth Bible study said about Joseph- “It’s confusing to be doing right and yet suffer for it”.

Another friend is getting ready to go meet the mother who abandoned him to strangers twenty years ago… Where was God in her desperate situation? Where was God when he watched his other mother die after extensive physical suffering?

Where is God when a fruitful flourishing church crumbles and falls apart at the seams? Where is God when people step out in faith and put everything on the line for a new venture… and it goes nowhere?

Where was God when a family’s dearly loved youngest child fell into their dry riverbed this week, broke her neck- and died?

Where is God when everything that identifies you or gives you value is taken away from you? Where is God when your hopes fade and your dreams go up in smoke; when you feel both your past and your future have been taken away from you?? Where is God when life hurts?

Has He ever felt so far away you didn’t bother talking with Him anymore? Have you ever tired of yelling into nothingness?

Have you ever curled up in a cave and whimpering, waited for numbness and sleep to get you through long, dark nights?

This afternoon I lay on the resurrected green grass and read through four versions (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) of the Easter story. And I want to ask you- have you ever noticed that the followers of Jesus did not find Him when or where they were looking for Him? But that when they were not expecting Him, He suddenly appeared to them… in a startling and unexpected fashion? Their souls lived on the edge of keen anticipation in the reality of His largeness, His unpredictability. The mystery of relationship kept freshness and joyful discovery in each encounter with Him.

He was not in the tomb- but He WAS in the garden. He did not initially meet the disciples, but He DID walk down a dusty road with them. He refused to be contained in any box where they expected Him to be, but He DID show up- when and where it really mattered.

Then again- God HAS been showing up for me recently, too. Just not when, where, or how I expect Him.

Just a few nights ago, I received disturbing news about a friend that greatly distressed me. I wrung my hands and I wondered where God had disappeared to this time. Several hours later I got to my computer and an international friend had said, “What happened at 8:30 this evening? Are you okay? What about your friend? Such feelings of fear came over me that I had to go pray for both of you. What’s going on?” Stunned, I realized that God had showed up for me—to someone who is praying more confidently than I myself am right now.

God showed up for me in my current favorite song, breaking out on the local radio station at the perfect moment. The words extend the promise of grace… explain how the healing will begin.

I stressed over money and unexpected expenses. God showed up in my mailbox via a check from a generous friend. He showed up again when another person handed me a card and said, “I want to pay your ticket”. I made a call in reference to getting some yard work done, and the very next day a different person came out of the blue and said- “I want to mow your lawn this summer. Don’t ask anyone else to do it.” (WOW- what a fabulous gift for any single woman!)

I have this amazing friend who listens to me endlessly, who keeps believing in me and encouraging me. In desperate moments I call her up, I message her. I confide the battle with weakness, with shame; I confide the vulnerability and despair. Minutes later, profound peace envelopes my heart and I know that deep inside of me, I am freshly empowered to take another step. Jesus within her prayers has showed up for me… once again.

It happened to Mary. To Peter and to John. To the apostles and disciples who knew Him best and loved Him most. No great surprise that it happens to us.

Sometimes He really does valiantly ride in to save our day. But more frequently, He shows up quietly in mundane details… Surprises us in His noiseless tracks and in the mystery about His movements. But He does show up to supply our needs, to whisper affirmation into our ears, and to shine light on the next step that we need to take- when and where it matters most.

THAT is what Easter means to me this year.

Believe

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It’s the word God keeps telling me these weeks. I can’t get away from it. It’s the word written on a block plaque sitting on my classroom window sill. A friend gave me the plaque without knowing that I need it more than any other word right now. I face it every day, sitting in front of my students. Between shoulders and above bobbing heads and beside the crepe-paper flowers in the vase: BELIEVE.

For all that is impossible: believe.

Why do we need to say ‘would’ in this sentence?

For every unwhispered dream: believe.

In grammar, it’s called a conditional.

Buds appear on trees, flowers from seeds: believe.

Could we try a Business English lesson next week?

For all that is impossible: believe.

Can we play Bingo now? Pleeeeease?

For healing for weeping wounds and aches: believe.

The word weaves itself through the minutes of my hours. Believe. For myself and those I love. For my students and their stories. Believe.

I say I believe His words, but my heart holds back, questioning, giving rationales, fearing.

He is patient in His convincing. That, if nothing else, tells me He is worthy of my belief. Can love morph into believing? Then belief will become more than cerebral assent, but firm, glad, heart-deep confidence.

As April’s warming soil births tulips and daffodils, my soul is slowly warming to believe.

Finger Work

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Last week, for the first time in nearly a year, I cut out a dress and started sewing it. As I worked, I felt a swirl of nostalgia and excitement and happiness. It wasn’t quite as fun to sew in a different place from my mom’s well-stocked sewing room, but it was still fun. Even if I don’t know yet if the dress will fit.

I remembered how my mom taught me how to sew. Her fingers on top of mine, she’d guide my hands in the tricky parts. She could always sort out the tangled pieces or thread tension. She’d always calm me down when I made a mistake and helped me see that it wasn’t wasted effort even if I had to redo something.

For reasons that I haven’t been able to verbalize, I love working with my hands. I love the feel of fabric or paper or thread in my fingers. It’s in my genes, maybe. I value modesty and simplicity which is the main reason I sew all my dresses, but even if I didn’t care about being modest, I would make some of my clothes just for the pleasure of it.

I like to think that God likes finger work too. The song says stars were the work of His fingers. I bet He had fun with that. (And how big does that make His hands?) Menno Kuhns, a patriarch at Bible school, was fond of saying that God’s creation was the work of His fingers, but when it came to redeeming men, it took the work of His arms–and here he’d raise his arm to bulge the muscles.

Whatever significance is in that wording, I like the fact that God is a creator and that He likes working with His fingers. It’s a strange kind of way in which to feel an affinity with the Almighty. Not that He’s like me, but that I’m like Him.

Because Love is the Most Powerful Force in the World

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I have a friend who ate bread at communion with tears raining down his cheeks. It is the broken, faltering ones to whom He comes to heal. Perfect love begets love. And gratitude. And worship. The path to wholeness starts with His love, not ours.

Jesus saw past a lady’s scandalous action of exposing her hair and kissing his feet, and He saw her love. He knew her story and could have exploited it, but He only briefly said she’d had ‘many sins’ and forgave them right there. His exquisite gentleness and grace for a broken woman makes me weep with the beauty of it.

In another exchange, Jesus talked with a man desperate for his son’s healing. The father admitted he doesn’t have as much faith as he could have: ‘Help my unbelief!’ And Jesus healed the son without demanding more faith from the father.

Those who are most aware of their sin and frailness are most thankful for Love that has swept all the dirt and imperfections away.

I love reading about the ways Jesus cared for people in gentleness and understanding. I’m unspeakably grateful that I don’t have to attain a certain level of perfection before He takes me seriously. It seems that what He values most is an honest heart with no barriers, no pretensions, and He speaks into that heart and changes it forever.

To Explain

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I haven’t figured out exactly why, but there are no words coming to me. Hence, no blog posts appear. I’m not so desperate for hits that I’m going to talk about what I had for lunch or what size shoes I’m looking for. Maybe this is a season for introspection and observation. I’ve been doing some of that, and it’s been enlightening–esp. the introspection.

I still love words. I still watch what some other people are writing. I still love stories and want to learn what makes an exceptional one. (Recommendation: read “Something from Nothing” by Phoebe Gilman.) But right now I only have energy to live a good story and walk with others in their stories, without putting it all into words.

Hopefully someday the words will come back.

Sentimental

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This time last year and the year before, I was heading for Calvary Bible School, a lively, old, little campus way back in the sticks of the Ozarks. My assignment was to teach a young ladies’ class. Two years before that, I was a ladies’ dean there.

While I’m delighted to be in Poland teaching English right now, my heart is tuned toward CBS these days, remembering, thinking, smiling.

I remember raucous laughter in the hallway, surprise parties, questions that come from girls being away from home for the first time, requests for curfew extensions. I remember quickly learning to keep boxes of tissues always within reach because you never knew when the tears would come. There were panic attacks to calm in the wee hours, and cleaning schedules to arrange, and bedtime hugs to give.

Though I loved deaning, I think I make a better teacher. I loved researching and outlining and studying, even if it took more than everything I had to give. Sometimes, in the flurry before class, I wondered why I was doing this, but after class, I always knew why. I loved the challenge of putting into words what I was wanting them to know. Sometimes I accomplished the goal, sometimes I didn’t. I loved seeing the lights go on in their eyes. I heard beautiful, grand dreams and goals, harrowing, heart-breaking stories, and broken, honest, brave prayers.

Being shepherdess to dozens of young ladies is one of the best things that happened to me. They grew me right up, and gave me much more than I could give. They have no idea how much I love them, and how I still call them ‘my girls’ in a protective, proud sort of way.

I gave them everything I had, and in the emptying, I was filled beyond measure. The girls are scattered all over the globe, doing amazing things that make me proud of them. I will always cheer for them and dream big for them. And I wish I could drive down that dusty five-mile dirt road this week to be part of their lives again.

Wielder of Wonder

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My advanced English student is taking an English Lit. course at university, and wanted me to help her get ready for her Medieval English exam. I always dreamed of studying Lit. and teaching it at high school or college level, but I never had or took the opportunity. It’s something I’m sometimes sad about.

So when she handed me the anthology she’s studying, and wanted me to read some pieces to her, I was in new, deep water. On her study list was Beowulf, Chaucer, and Shakespeare. I’d never read any of them, only heard about them. My student friend wanted practice in listening, so I read aloud, starting with Beowulf.

Recently, I’ve felt starved for words that live, that speak relevance and life to me. So much of what is being written now is clap-trap and trite, canned and smooth, without the grip of something solid for me to hold onto. Not that it’s not speaking to someone else out there, but somehow I need something more.

I started reading the first lines, stumbling over the foreign-sounding, archaic words as gracefully as possible, and came to this line:

…the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world’s renown.

So it’s talking about Beowulf, the heir, the son in his halls to ‘favor the folk’ and the alliteration is lovely, but instantly I knew I’d found the rich words I’d been aching for, and who they describe for me: my God, the Wielder of Wonder. The words took my breath away, the alliteration and simplicity and depth.

This week a mentor asked me to think about what God was up to during a particularly puzzling time. So I’ve been thinking about what God was doing, and how patient and solid and persistent He was and is. The phrase from Beowulf, “Wielder of Wonder,” put into words what I hadn’t grasped yet. I can’t fully explain why the words touched me so deeply, why I found them so rich and meaningful, but there they are, because I wanted to share them in case someone else is starved for beautiful words.