StoryADay: "I Love You"

Right now I am having a great time writing Fiction. Fiction, of all things! Never in my wildest dreams had I considered it, but a friend posted an article on her feed about a StoryADay Challenge. I thought signing up for the challenge might broaden my horizons. The plots and words are coming at me faster than I can get them to the page. I would encourage any of you, if you like to write, or are thinking about writing, give it a try. Julie Duffy, speaker, writer and coach, challenged herself in 2010, and has asked others to join her ever since. She is quite encouraging and offers tips, resources and paid programs on her page. 

The challenge has motivated me to take my writing seriously (so has the absence of a paycheck), so I am committing to posting my usual stuff here every Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. (Public commitment is important in writer world; it provides accountability and keeps the writer on track.) On Saturdays, I'll be posting something from my foray into creative writing. Maybe even Fiction! With dialog! So, I hope you'll continue to stay tuned, and this being Saturday, I hope you enjoy the latest outcome of my StoryADay Challenge:

I Love You

"I love you," Mom said as I tucked her into bed. There was no sing-song, no extra syllables. It was clear as a bell. Of course, I know her reasons. Mom may not know who I am, but she knows I care for her. Mom is nice to anyone who gives her treats or makes her feel safe. And I do.

Tomorrow is supposed to be a beautiful day. Not too hot; the sun, not too overbearing. Mom and I will spend most of the day on the deck. She will whistle and chirp, and I will read and write. Her sounds don't seem to seep into my thoughts the way they do when we sit inside a still house.

I will make her snacks, and each time, as I come to her with a bowl or napkin, a smile will slowly spread across her face. Her normally vacant eyes will immediately fix themselves on the dainty in my hands. As she eats, she will sing a song of satisfaction.

Mom will spread her hands in the warm sun. She never complained of pain when she was able, so I'm not sure, but I feel with her the warmth seeping down into deep, achy places in her joints. From time to time she will look at her hands, as a child discovering them for the first time. "Look!" she'll say, and hold her hands up to me as though offended by the thinness and spots that corroborate her age. "Those hands are ninety years old," I will defend. "They have cooked a lot of Thanksgivings and ironed many white cotton ruffles." She will tilt her head, drop her eyes sadly, and nod. She's being polite, I think. How can she possibly remember? It's been years. Most days she thinks she's a child and I am her mother. If I leave the room a bit too long, she will look for me. Although, some days, "too long" can be less than the time it takes me to rise from my chair. She will begin to rise also, or her face will tighten into sadness and her sing-song will sound more like a whimper. Other days, I dash to the store, assuring her before I leave that I will not be long. I snatch items from the shelves and run through my list frantically. "Do I have a minute to stop in the post office? No," I answer myself, "I took too long looking for the right capers." I head straight home, load up every spare piece of flesh on my arm with groceries, and burst through the door, only to be met with vacant eyes. She wasn't searching, she wasn't alarmed, she never knew I was gone.

When the sun begins to warm the canopy over the deck, Mom will be more comfortable. Her sing-songs and whistles will cease; her head will drop to her chest, and she will nap. I will read and write with nothing but the buzz of bees and the song of birds drifting off into the clouds. Mom will startle herself awake now and again; she will raise her head to see if I was watching. "Are you okay?" I will ask. She will nod and close her eyes.

It was on Mom's eighty-fifth birthday she came to live with us. She needed care and protection; I wanted her to thrive. I diffused oils as she slept. I searched recipes and explored the health benefits of certain foods. I hopped aboard the "organic train." I played all types of music; Mom would tap her foot and, sometimes, even sing, but could she thrive? Her illness --whatever it is-- wouldn't hear of it. It was taking her down and would stop at nothing to do it. But Mom is a fighter. Anyone whose made it past ninety is a fighter, I would say.

By four o'clock, most of the sun will have disappeared behind the houses further down our row. The canopy above will still be warm, but the air will have begun to cool. Mom will begin to get agitated. The evening will come soon and her body can sense it. It is time to go inside. "Don't forget your sunglasses there, Hollywood!" I will say as gangly legs and large fuzzy slippers take their first steps into the shadowy house. She will sit at the table, watching for glimpses of me as I move through the kitchen making dinner. She will pick up her cup over and over, each time disgusted by the fact it contains only water. She will pick at lint, and sweep teeny-tiny crumbs off onto the floor, and "whisper" to the dog, and tap endlessly on the table. The sickness is taking over more and more of her as the night creeps closer.

At bedtime, I will say it is time. The cat will spring to life, waiting for his chance to sneak into her room, and Mom will agree she is tired. I will get her ready, and fluff her pillows, and she will fix socks and pick lint and put her slippers just so, like a child worn out from the day but reluctant to be alone. "Goodnight, Mom," I will say, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I love you."

And she might just say, "I love you," too.

A Lesson in Giving (Free of Charge)

Have you ever been to one of those grocery stores that makes you pay for your cart? Now, they don't charge you, really -- more like a rental; you get it back when you return the cart. Meanwhile, you put your quarter into a little box attached to the handle of the cart. After you've loaded the groceries in your vehicle, you take your cart to the front of the store, link it to the rest of the carts, and your quarter pops out. Pretty ingenious. But, there's a very interesting thing that happens more often than not with that quarter. A shopper will arrive, ready to "rent" a cart, and do their shopping. Another shopper might be stashing the last of the groceries in his vehicle. 

"Do you need a cart?" the stasher will call. 

"Sure!" and the shopper will prepare to hand over her quarter. 

"Nah, it's good. Have a great day!" the stasher will say as he jumps into his vehicle, donating cart and quarter to the shopper. 

This exchange happens over and over all day long. Quarters being lost and gained with little or no thought. It's just a quarter, right? What do you think would be the outcome if it was a dollar? Five dollars? 

You see, our desire to do something nice for others generally depends on how much it's going to cost us. You might help a friend move on a Saturday. After all, it's a friend. She brought you chicken soup when you were sick last winter; you two are always doing things for one another. But what about the strange guy who sits behind you at church? Would you help him move on a Saturday? You could probably find all kinds of reasons not to give up a beautiful Saturday in May to help the strange guy move. Or maybe your sister wants you to come to the play she's been stinkin' up the stage in for the last three weeks. On a Friday night. Your only Friday night off work this month. This relationship just got a little expensive, didn't it? I know how it is! I'm talking to me, too!

Well, there are lessons in that quarter. a) A quarter doesn't get you much these days, but something that insignificant can get you a shopping cart and, maybe, brighten someone's day if you pass it on. It doesn't cost much to be kind, and the results are lasting. b) Most of us think nothing of handing over a quarter because we'll get another one. We've had enough quarters in our day, we're pretty secure in the knowledge we'll wind up with another one sooner or later. Imagine if we trusted Jesus enough to think of all our possessions that way. c) There's giving and there's taking. You can't hand someone a dime for the cart -- it won't work -- so, you're either going to give them the cart and the full measure or you're going to take the cart, chain it up, and get your quarter back. Giving anything less than what you can give is taking something for yourself. Hebrews 13:16 calls sharing a sacrifice. Sacrifice should make us uncomfortable. Jesus honored a widow because her gift was given out of poverty, and not just what she had left over at the end of the month.

Whatever lesson speaks to you, I pray you are kind and that others are kind to you. And if I see you in the parking lot of the grocery store, the rental is on me!

What's In a Nickname?

Men love nicknames. What is that all about? And they don't hold back when it comes to awarding someone a new moniker. They will call a buddy Cross-eyed Cole in a New York minute. And Cole will think it's great! Imagine being known throughout history as Fat Jack or Rick the Stick. When it comes to evaluating others, however, we love to think we are above passing judgment based on the wrapper God gave them; we're really not. If you owned a factory, would you hire the tall, thin, athletic-looking guy, or the guy who's as wide as he is tall? Chances are you'd hire the athlete. Why? Heavier people are characterized as being lazy, or sloppy in their work. If you searched a crowd for someone to hang out with, would it be the little, skeezy-looking guy rubbing elbows with the politicians? I doubt it.

We just started a devotional called Nobody Left Out: Jesus Meets the Messes, by Michael Murray. The author was born with cerebral palsy; he is no stranger to being judged and he knows God uses whom He chooses. The first encounter is Jesus' call to Zaccheus. You know the guy -- "Zaccheus was a wee little man and a wee little man was he..." Yep, that's him. Now, the first thing Luke tells us about him is that Zaccheus was a chief tax collector, and his job had made him rich. Tax collectors in those days worked for Rome. The Roman government set the prices and the people who collected the taxes added on their own surcharges. Essentially, Zaccheus was gouging his own people. I'm sure he didn't get invited to a lot of backyard barbecues. The second thing Luke reveals is that Zaccheus wanted to see who Jesus was. Why? He saw the crowd? He'd heard the stories? Maybe something was pricking his conscience. Luke doesn't say. And the third thing is the thing that has probably stuck with Zaccheus longer and more vividly than anything else -- at least among us, the patently superficial -- he was short. Luke's point is that because of Zaccheus' disadvantage, he had to climb a tree. Jesus saw this grown man, hated by his own people (and maybe well-deserving of their hatred), possibly having a "Napoleon complex" before even Napoleon, perhaps picked on all his life, willing to risk further ridicule just to see who He was. Jesus invited Himself to Zaccheus' house and what a blessing came upon that place! Zaccheus pledged half of his wealth to the poor and committed to paying the victims of his shady dealings back fourfold! What a transformation! 

Now, I get it, Zaccheus wasn't despised simply because of his stature; he didn't have the popular vote either. But, what if his choice of occupation was a first-century way of overcompensating? Perhaps he'd been slighted all his life and decided to get back at the tall, thin, athletic-looking crowd. Despite his size, Jesus chose him. Maybe because of his size. After all, Zaccheus didn't let that stand in the way of satisfying his curiosity. That took some moxie. And the people watching, particularly those who may have been repaid fourfold because of Zaccheus' transformation, probably never looked at him the same way again. Maybe in that part of town, Zaccheus' height became less of an issue and the size of his heart was more the focus. Whatever the long-term results, Luke ends the record with the fact that truly matters: "And Jesus said to him, 'Today salvation has come to this house, because he also is a son of Abraham; for the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.'" Zaccheus may have gone down in history as a wee little man, but he went down in eternity as a blood-bought child of the King.

One Under God

We live in the United States of America. Sadly ironic these days. But how should united look like in a country also known as a "melting pot" of cultures and races? What did united look like in the early church as it spread from one region to another? What is the purpose of our union as a human race?

Read Paul's words:

11 "And He Himself gave some to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, and some pastors and teachers, 12 for the equipping of the saints for the work of ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ, 13 till we all come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ; 14 that we should no longer be children, tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, in the cunning craftiness of deceitful plotting, 15 but, speaking the truth in love, may grow up in all things into Him who is the head—Christ—"                                                                   ~ Ephesians 4:11-15

Did you catch that? Did you catch the diversity for the purpose of unity? God, through Paul, is explaining the importance of diversity in Kingdom work. In this case, He refers to commissions. I am going to assume there was something about those appointed to evangelize that made them different from the prophets. I'm also going to assume the qualities that made one suitable for the office of prophet were unlike those suitable for that of teacher. A variety of talents, circumstances, education, finances, etc., equipped them for their calling with the purpose of one goal: a ministry that would build up the body, bring individuals to a place of unity and maturity for the glory of God.

God created diversity and uses it to bring glory to His name. No one should be ashamed of anything God has given them; not their pigmentation or features, or their talents, or their heritage. It's not like we have a say in those things. Diversity is cause for celebration, not segregation or intimidation. Hiding or denying our differences leads to over-correction. Hating or demoralizing another race in an effort to fix the hatred and demoralization of another is still racism. None of this leads to unity. Unity is understanding there is one goal -- to glorify God -- and seeking His guidance in blending those differences to reach that goal. Without people of different backgrounds and talents banding together and teaching the truth about God and His work, the disciples in the above text would have remained children -- immature in their faith and tossed to and fro by every wind of doctrine; they would have never known the unity of the body of Christ (v. 14-15). How powerful it is when people of obvious differences come together and testify to the same truth! 

Sadly, discrimination and injustice do exist. Sin demands that those things exist; Satan demands those things exist. But, diversity and unity exist as well, by God's design! In Christ, there is forgiveness of the very sin that causes us to pervert diversity, and in Christ, there is the redemption of broken vessels. The differences given us by God -- talents, backgrounds, education, culture, geography, and yes, skin color -- facilitate the spread of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the only hope for a cursed world (a world created by an infinitely imaginative God), to every square inch of that world. Lifelong relationships can be formed based on things we perceive in the first few minutes of meeting someone. When the gospel is spread by diverse individuals to other diversified groups, those relationships can be a catalyst for God's glory. The glory comes in the purpose for the relationship and the fruit it bears, not in whether it appears diverse or homogenous to human beings.

Dare to live differently. Dare to love others for their differences. Dare to take this country back to one nation under God. And we'll give Him the glory together.

Everybody's Better Than Me. And That's Okay.

Okay, so you're better than me. I mean, you have the Benz and I have the FoMo; you have the shore house (They're "shore" houses in Jersey) and I get to sit in my yard and look at the neighbors' yards. You have the degree; I'm the world's oldest living sophomore. You retired as a lieutenant; I just retired. We could sit here and count the ways, and I'd be okay, but does that makes me humble? Is being humble having the power to crush someone, but not having the interest in crushing anybody? Is being humble knowing someone is wrong, but refusing to out them publicly? It is so much more. Just listen to this verse:

2 Chronicles 7:14 ~ "if My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land."

The Hebrew word translated "humble" in this verse is kana. Kana means to bend the knee; hence, to humiliate, vanquish:—bring down (low), into subjection, under, humble (self), subdue (Strong's). To humble oneself is to submit, to bow before someone (in this case, God) and to be willing to endure even humiliation. Imagine what it might mean to bring yourself low. In this world, it's the higher ground that gains you a military advantage; it's being at the top of the list that gets you the transplant; it's having the highest grades or the highest IQ that opens up opportunities in universities worldwide; it's the highest number of likes, of album sales, of awards, of followers that we are taught to worship or seek after. The lowly get crushed. That may be, but if we truly believe all things work together for good to those who love God and are His called (Rom. 8:28), there's nothing to worry about, right? 

Or, how about this verse? (You might wanna say "ouch" after you've taken a moment to let this one sink in. I did.):

Philippians 2:3 ~ "Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself."

No need for translation there. "Let each esteem others better than himself." That means you're better than me. Even if you aren't. (But you are. Because God says so.) Now, we're not talking about "poor me, I'm not worth anything." The Bible is full of verses affirming our inestimable worth in Jesus Christ; in fact, it's the worth He ascribes to us that is the reason we ascribe worth to others, greater than the worth we ascribe ourselves. (Did you catch that?) When I speak of you, I speak more highly than I do of myself. When there is one chair remaining, I will stand. If you answer me harshly, I will answer you gently. If you have done something to offend me, if absolutely necessary, I will discuss it with you prayerfully, respectfully, and in love. If, through prayer, I find it is something I need to let go, I will do that. I'm not talking about tip-toeing around you as though you are fragile; I'm not talking about sucking it up to spare your feelings or avoid a confrontation; I'm certainly not talking about stewing quietly. I am talking about each believer resting in who they are through Christ, so that they can love others selflessly (agape*) and serve them daily. And I am certainly talking to myself as much as anyone else today.

So, you're better than me, and that's okay. Hopefully, I'll give you my seat one day.

*agape: (Greek) a love that is goodwill, benevolence, and willful delight in the object of love. Agape love involves faithfulness, commitment, and an act of the will.