the family table…

Christmas was one of Mom’s favorite times of the year. I suppose that is where I get my affection for some of the traditions that mark this season. Mom loved to adorn our home with trees, lights, stockings and carolers. I recall the aroma of fudge bubbling on the stove and cookies baking in the oven. I remember the anxious anticipation of the arrival of extended family. And, dinner in the oven. I remember adding a leaf or 2 in Mom’s big table–always creating space for more.

During this season of dinner parties, added family gatherings and celebrations I am reminded of the significant shaping that can take place around a family table.

From the time our babies are born we scoot them up to the corner of the table where they begin to observe and participate in the traditions of sharing a meal. We hold their tiny fists in ours and give thanks for the abundance. Long before these little ones will eat from a spoon or engage in an exchange of words, they will have rehearsed the traditions of the family table, time and again.
And best of all, they will not have to question their belonging.

It was true for me.
I never had to earn a place at the family table or hope I would be invited to stay. Instead, each of us were gifted a seat at the table as soon as we showed up.

We move our little ones from a baby seat to the high chair where they begin to taste “big people” food.
We move them from the highchair to the booster where they get to help pass the potatoes to the right.
We teach them manners and the proper way to set the table—remembering that forks go on the left.

I am so grateful that a “kids table” was reserved only for special occasion when I was a child. For it was at the big table, the family table we learned life lessons. We fussed over, “who gets to set my mom!” Night after night we waited as she diligently cut meat for the little ones, never complaining that her own plate was growing cold.
We shared laughter and sometimes silence.
We learned the art of waiting our turn to speak.
We learned to linger over dessert, coffee and good conversation.
We heard Grandpa retell stories and heard Daddy entertain with a joke or a story.

The truth is, my time at the family table has had a significant impact in my understanding of the ways in which we pass faith along to the next generation.
Long before our babies are verbal or able to practice the patterns of prayer and bible study, we begin to invite them in and model these disciplines.
Long before a child is able to articulate an understanding of faith rituals or identify a means of grace, they are invited to be witness and participants. They hear carrying leaders tell and retell the stories of the old and new testaments.
From the time they are born we are helping them form habits and discover places of belonging until one day we recognize that there’s no question regarding their belonging in the faith community.

Every week as three generations join for a meal at Mom’s big ol’ table, it is my prayer that we would gather in the keen awareness that we’ve got more to pass along than just potatoes.

Life is like a water balloon

Oh friends–death is often a difficult subject to discuss with children as we seek to discover balance between promoting truth (as far as we understand) and exacerbating fear.

The thing about dying is–no one on “this side” of death has been dead so we are not even sure how to talk about it ourselves. We are not “exactly” sure what death looks like beyond closing our eyes here (on earth as we know it) and watching “presence” somehow leave the body.

I have often wondered if the best way to talk to children about death is to talk about the absence of presence in one’s body.
It may “look like” going to sleep.
And it may “sound like” going to sleep however, the major difference and the one that concerns us that in death, it appears that we do not quit sleeping. Dead is permanent as far as we can “see” so we say things to make us feel better like…
…don’t worry, Grandma went to be with Jesus. She’s better off now.
…don’t be sad honey, Jesus needed your little brother in heaven so he took him home.
…you don’t need to worry about dying, it will not happen until Jesus says it’s your time.
In sleeping…we breathe, wiggle, snore and toot!
When we die, there is no wiggle, breathe or sounds left in the body.
Presence escapes us.

If we must explain death then maybe we could fill a water balloon.
Squeezing it and watching life move all around inside.
When we release all the water (when presence or spirit is released) the balloon is lifeless. It does not wiggle, slosh or bounce.
However, it is still a balloon.
It is done doing its balloon work.
It will be put to rest until a time that it is refilled with water (presence again)
The owner or creator of the water balloon is the only one who can make it come to life again.
The balloon is not hurt or punished or scared.
It is just lifeless.
There is probably a better illustration.

My point is, life leaves a body that was once, encompassing life.
I don’t know how it happens nor do I know where presence goes when it leaves this body.
Some predict that we go into an eternal sleep until Jesus calls our name.
Some predict we step immediately from this life, into the very presence of God.
Some predict that we go to a holding place where we loose track of time, space and life as we once knew it. It is where we wait for judgement.

The thing I like most is this–God does not make the “immediately after-death” part, clear.
For centuries, adults have been trying to figure out what happens when you die.
God, a creative God, reserves the right to protect the mystery of death by allowing ONLY those who die to know what death looks like.
I love that mystery separates us from knowing fully.

As a parent and pastor, somewhere along the way I became comfortable with saying to children,
“I don’t know…”
“I’ve never been dead.”
“What do you think happens when you die?”
“Who can we find who has been dead so we can ask them?”

Kids are usually way more comfortable with mystery than we.
We seek to find answers, explanations and insight.
With which I agree.
To a point.
I love wisdom and knowledge and insight.
I am also asking Father to teach me to be okay living inside the mystery.
When I die, I too will gain insight into the mystery.
Until then, I am content to live.

the power of presence

An unusual Tuesday–I found myself sitting outside the church, journalling at a time we would have normally been gone to lunch.
I heard a voice asking, “Do you work here?”
I turned to discover a lady who while walking by the church property with her dog, she made a discovery.
“Do you know there is someone sleeping under the stairs on the other side of your building?”
Uncertain I’d heard with accuracy I responded, ”Excuse me?”
Repeating the dilemma I assured her we would check it out.
Rather than investigate alone and remembering the insistent request of my husband, I called Shane to go on the search mission with me–
We discovered, a girl.
She was indeed sleeping.
She immediately began to gather her things, apologize and say, “I will get off your property.”
We sought to convince her that we had no desire for her to leave.
Quite the contrary–we wanted her to stick around so we could figure out if there were ways we might help.
Assuming there was surely some sort of “need” if a cement surface on the underside of the fire escape at some random church was the best place one could find for a midday nap.
Convincing her was not simple.
We offered her a snack for her upset tummy.
We offered her a shower since her last was 2 weeks prior.
We offered her a drink.
She declined each offer.
Eventually accepted snacks and water bottles to place inside her duffle–promising to partake later.

We began to collect her story.
Separated from her  family since she was very small she spoke with some resentment for the system.
“My mom lost her parental rights when I was a baby.
She had 5 other children and raised them like a family.
I am not sure why she couldn’t raise me like a family…”
I like the way families look.
I am sad with the sincerity behind these words.
Very, sad.
As her story unfolds we discover that she is attempting to get “home”
Too many miles to walk but willing.
Offeres repeatedly, “I will just leave.”
She would never enter the building so we sat on the sidewalk to chat while Shane helped us figure out some travel details, online.

While he is inside, I invite the weary traveler to share her story at greater depths. I learn, she  was married once…it didn’t work out.
She likes to read.
We got her some books to read in her wait time.
She has earned and held a Certified Nurses Assistant (CNA) certificate somewhere in the past.
She says, “I’m not uneducated–and I can hold a job.”
She would like to return to that line of work–caring for others.
She describes her life as one that can never catch a break.

Describing her reality, I “hear” the…dilemma
You cannot get a job if you are dirty, homeless and without transportation.
I concur.
You cannot get cleaned up with regularity, purchase a dependable car or pay for a place to live until you have a job.
Again, I concur.
It is much more difficult.
Maybe not impossible through the support of a homeless center offering a reentry program.
However, her point is well taken.

It was 80 degrees today.
Quite comfortable, really.
However, not chilly enough for the large coat she was wearing.
The coat was assigned several roles.
Keeping warm was not one of them for today.
The large pocket on one side served as a file cabinet and storage for important information.
The hood served as a consistent head cover.
It remained in tact the whole time we were together.
The rest of the coat seemed to be a necessary, security blanket.
Covering the unkept shirt, her pants which were tied up with a rope.
It also protected her sun-drenched arms.
The police came.
She was frustrated at first.
Fearing we had gone back on the words, “We just want to help you.”
We were able to preserve integrity for we were indeed, simply trying to help.
So was the local police.
Grateful for their gentle care.

It seems there are two entities that have tainted reputations with some folks who are in a tough spot.
As if it is not difficult enough to be homeless, family-less and money-less.
Let’s add a church who runs you off the property and a police department who runs you out of town.
Neither of these happened today.
Again, I’m grateful.

She was hoping to make it back to familiar turf and then, hoping to be arrested.
The “hope” of being arrested means the hope of being in a “home” with food, clothing, showers and safety.
Imagine, all this wrapped up in the promise of jail time.
Shane and I gave her a lift to the launch site for her next destination.

As she climbed out of the Jeep, I recognized, we would most likely never see her again.
We offered to pray for her before she went inside.
I found myself struggling for words.
This was not a parting moment where you offer 2 thumbs up and say, “Happy Trails!”
Nor does it seem like the right moment to say, “Best of luck!”
The reality is, she is headed to a far away city hoping to have an unsettled court case that will offer her safety.

I remember Pentecost.
In the promise of the Holy Spirit we recognize the words of promise include, Presence.
Jesus says, don’t worry–you will not be alone. I will be with you. (exaggerated paraphrase)
Presence is a powerful force.
So, I prayed, remembering that God made this young lady in the secret place.
Nothing in all of creation is hidden from the sight of the Creator.
Even if it appears that all else is lost, we have an ever present help in times of trouble…
If this is true for me, it is true for our midday acquaintance.

She had beautiful eyes when I could catch a glimpse.
It was difficult for her to look-up.
Every time I looked in to her eyes I heard the words, “…whatever you did for the least of these my brother, you did it also for me…”

I learned some valuable truths along with the girl under the stairs today.
I learned some valuable truths along side my pastor today.
In life’s classroom I am taken aback by the work of timing and purpose; and taken by the mighty work of Presence.
Some might say, it was a God thing…

 

 

The Little Boy

The Little Boy
By Helen Buckley

Once a little boy went to school.
He was quite a little boy
And it was quite a big school.
But the little boy
Found that he could go to his room
By walking in from the door outside,
He was happy
And school did not seem
Quite so big any more.

One morning,
When the little boy had been in school awhile,
The teacher said:
Today we are going to make a picture.
Good, thought the little boy.
He liked to make pictures.
He could make all things;
Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows,
Trains and boats -
And he took out his box of crayons
And began to draw.

But the teacher said, Wait.
It is not time to begin.
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
Now, said the teacher,
We are going to make flowers.
Good, thought the little boy.
He liked to make flowers,
And he began to make beautiful flowers.
With his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said, Wait!
And I will show you how.
And it was red, with a green stem.
There, said the teacher,
Now you may begin.
The little boy looked at the teacher’s flower.
Then he looked at his own flower.
He liked his flower better than the teacher’s.
But he did not say this.
He just turned his paper over
And he made a flower like the teacher’s.
It was red, with a green stem.

On another day,
When the little boy had opened
The door from outside all by himself,
The teacher said:
Today we are going to make something with clay.
Good, thought the little boy.
He liked clay.
He could make all kinds of things with clay:
Snakes and snowmen,
Elephants and mice,
Cars and trucks -
And he began to pull and pinch
His ball of clay.
But the teacher said:
Wait, it is not time to begin.
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
Now, said the teacher,
We are going to make a dish,
He liked to make dishes,
And he began to make some
That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said, Wait
And I will show you how.
And she showed everyone how to make
One deep dish.
There, said the teacher.
Now you may begin.

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish,
Then he looked at his own.
He liked his dishes better than the teacher’s.
But he did not say this.
He just rolled his clay into a big ball again
And he made a dish just like the teacher’s.
It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon the little boy learned to wait,
And to watch, And to make things just like the teacher.
And pretty soon
He didn’t make anything of his own any more.
Then it happened
That the little boy and his family
Moved into another house,
In another city,
And the little boy had to go to another school.
This school was even bigger than the other one,
And there was no door from the outside into his room.
He had to go up some steps,
And walk down a long hall
To get to his room.
And the very first day
He was there,
The teacher said:
Today we are going to make a picture.
Good, thought the little boy,
And he waited for the teacher
To tell him what to do.
But the teacher didn’t say anything.
She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy she said:
Don’t you want to make a picture?
Yes, said the little boy,
What are we going to make?
I don’t know until you make it, said the teacher.
How shall I make it? asked the little boy.
Why, anyway you like, said the teacher.
And any colour? asked the little boy.
Any colour, said the teacher.
If everyone made the same picture,
And used the same colours,
How would I know who made what?
And which was which?
I don’t know, said the little boy,
And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

This will be fun

When God created man and woman—I wonder if he said, this will be fun. I will create them to be different in every way.
Yet, they will have a strong desire to be together…

Man will be like a hunter—seeking adventure and setting goals, looking for things to conquer.
He will begin life as a little boy, seeking to know how things work, seeking to blow things up—and he will crawl around on his knees.
Woman will soon discover that he needs reinforced jeans to support his habits.

Woman will be like a gatherer—seeking to surround herself with children and relationships that flourish when nurtured.
She will begin life as a little girl, collecting baby dolls, nail polish and dress-up clothes.
Man will soon discover that she needs resources to purchase and bags to transport these necessary collections.

I wonder if God said, this will be fun.
I will create man to be visual—he will take great delight in looking a woman and hoping to touch her from time-to-time.
I will create woman to have a deep longing to be cherished and to feel safe.
Man, not recognizing at first that they are wired different in every way will look and make attempts to touch.
Woman, not recognizing at first that they are wired different in every way will groom herself ‘til she becomes eye candy yet, she will limit touching until she feels cherished.
Both will be found scratching their heads for much of their life, seeking to understand the way the other thinks.
They will come close in their discovery at times—but then the inevitable will happen, the “other” will change!

I wonder if God said, this will be fun…and important.
Since these innate differences will not go away—this is how man and woman will best be able to wrap their mind around this idea of Grace.
Though man and woman might posture themselves as students of one another; really seeking to lean-in and understand the needs, the chemistry and the changes that are taking place, it will remain impossible for the man to fully climb inside the heart and mind of a woman.
And…it will be impossible for woman to fully climb inside the heart and mind of a man.
Therefore, man and woman will spend a lifetime seeking to understand the ways in which they might best interpret needs, desires and expectation.

And, by the Grace of God, they can learn to love one another, fully.
Not because of what they gain from one another but simply because they are the Creator’s created ones.
Man and Woman.

life is a stage

Emma is 3 years old.
Soon she will be 4 and she is fully aware of the pending celebration.
Much of the time, one might wonder if Emma is a 14 year old who is simply trapped inside a 3 year old frame.

To my left there’s a picture window.
The curtains are standing open.
Centered in front of the window, are two candle stands.
One measures approximately 24″–the another measures closer to 30″. Both of the candle stands sit on the floor.
Each stand is housing a slightly used, 4″ candle in rightful placement.
Until this moment I viewed the curtains and candle stands as an addition to the decor–for the use of creating ambience and style. I can imagine that was the original intent.
However, this morning, I see the these once ordinary niceties through a new lens.

Emma positions herself behind the 24″ candle stand.
The picture window becomes her backdrop.
The curtains frame her stage.
The candle-stand is a microphone stand
And the 4″ candle is of course, a microphone.
She carefully leans into the mic and begins to allow music to flow from her inner being.
It’s not ordinary singing, for Emma recognizes that she is the featured guest. She’s “on” so she “brings it!”

It is not a stretch for Emma to see life as a stage.
I heard one side of a phone conversation between Emma and her mamma while she was visiting her grandma. Her mom said, “You will either be coming home Thursday evening or Friday morning.” To which 3 year old Emma replied, “I choose Friday morning.”
I love that Emma recognizes she has a “vote” in her family.
She is not in charge for her momma responded with, “we will see what daddy says.” However, she did not attack Emma’s confidence nor did she give any indicators that her 3 year old voice did not matter.
Emma spoke her desires without a invitation.
It is clear she speaks with confidence.
And it is clear her parents are in the habit of listening without being driven by her desires. They will still do what is best for the family.
I like that for little Emma.
She is not in charge.
3 year olds do not have the life experience or broad thinking to be in charge of family decisions.
Emma recognizes, “she is with the family, they are not with her.”
Yet, she is allowed to feel safe, confident and valued.
This will help Emma.
I have gained valuable insight from Emma this morning.
I am glad I had the opportunity to be her audience before the day got too full of noise.

Character

Children are so stinkin’ insightful. The are able to observe us literally at the core of our being. They’re carefully attempting to measure what they “see” to what they “hear.” Therefore, it seems one could make a case supporting that many of life’s character lessons (or the lack there of) will be learned simply through observation and experience. I recognize the impact of this thinking in my life.

In George Barna’s book, “Revolutionary Parenting,” he points out that even though character is observed in one’s life, it is also important to be aware of times for deliberate conversations around the importance of embracing good and right character. He encourages households to live in an awareness that teaching and shaping must take place in daily doing life together. And I would add, over the long-haul. (longview)

When we begin to identify, demonstrate and affirm characteristics that reflect Christlikeness it raises an awareness in the thinking and observations of our young [concrete] learners and our older [increasingly abstract] learners. Our intentional words of affirmation and teaching provide children with language to describe what they are seeing, hearing and experiencing. And ultimately, identifying, the “who” they may seek to become.

In a world where much of “who” we are or what we do is measured only by what others “see,” helping children understand that deeply rooted character becomes increasingly significant.

I wonder what would happen if children were surrounded by conversations and acts of:
compassion
encouragement
humility
kindness
sincerity
perseverance
gentleness
discipline
honesty
justice
generosity
stability
mercy and love (for starters).
I wonder what would happen if we began to embraced a broad understanding that Christlike characteristics are a manifestation of Christ with us…Christ in us.
I wonder what would happen if young learners were shaped in households where words and actions were a matched set.
I wonder what would happen…

It seems we haven’t one moment to waste. We can begin to have conversations with our youngest, most absorbent learners (sponges) long before they are ever verbal.

I remember a mama who would sit and rock her 4th child, stroking his little forehead and reminding him that he was a child of God–an obedient child.

I remember sitting and rocking our little Jacie and reminding her that Peace had come to take up residence in her soul. And still declare it for and with her today.

Every time I tuck little Rylan in, I declare as the Priest declared at his baptism that he is a Righteous man of God. Not because man declares him righteous but because his Righteousness comes from his Creator.

Now, it is our job to continually move Rylan toward Righteousness, for one who hungers, will be filled. It is our job to move Jacie toward a life of Peace. It is the role of this mamma to move her 4th child toward a heart that embraces Obedience.

I would support that seeking to develop Jesus-Character is not simply a decision we make to “net” children we can be proud of or to create better households. Rather, it is intentional living, passing along and instructing a life defined by Christ-characteritics for the sake of the Christ-living.

Just thinking…

My son says they’ve kind of defaulted to break and bake cookies as a standard at their house these days. Hungering for some homemade cookies he locates a recipe promising, 5 dozen. He rolls the dough into 12 COOKIES, bakes and eats, 2. Later, doing the math he realizes each cookie represents 5…which leaves him eating 10 cookies at the sampling. And his wife eating 10 cookies for an little “afternoon snack.”  He’s telling us this little story at dinner table where he’s asked the question, “so what, you didn’t bring any to share?” To which he replies, “no way, I only had 8 left…” Love that kid.

I hate it when I am shaving my legs 80 miles an hour and I get too close to my ankle or knee while moving at high speed. Let’s just say, I’m going to be sporting a Barbie bandaid again tomorrow!

Jacie asked me for a journal. I am grateful for the shaping.

Tuesday night I walked into a meeting where Kerry says, “Pastor, I couldn’t wait to see you! I’ve been wanting to tell you what I saw! You’ve been telling us since we got here, “if our children don’t see us pray, they will not learn to pray and if our children don’t hear us praise, they will not learn to praise.”" He goes on to describe a scene he had the privilege of witnessing as he stood behind a daddy and a young worshiper last Sunday. Daddy raised his hands in praise while holding his little one in his arms. Before long, his son extended his hands to the heavens reflecting the image of his daddy. Grateful that our children are moving us by example. Grateful that we are watching for these faith moments as they are being developed in our young worshipers. Grateful for a faith community who is willing to abandon what is safe and easy in order to embrace opportunities to pass faith to the next generation.

I had a similar experience going on in the front row. Holding Rylan in my arms I found myself expressing praise as we declare the Reign of God. When I dropped my hand Rylan reached over and helped me raise it again. As if to say, “I’ll support your arm Grandma…” Grateful…

We never have “D” batteries. I’m going to buy some.

Football season officially started at our house Thursday night at 7:30. That is not necessarily a celebration. Just an announcement. I do however love anything that brings my family together and home. Enjoyed dinner with the fam, the grandbaby hugs and playtime, my daughters-in-laws–the unplanned connecting time. Ummm, love it.

Had lots of time to read lately. What’s that about?

I love it when I go into the bookstore seeking a title and find it on sale. Don’t really save any money cause I’m always compelled to purchase and extra and give it away.

It’s Pastor Shane birthday. He’s 33, just like Jesus. He is a gift to me.

The sunshine makes me feel good.

Grateful for prayer time at nbc this a.m.

Introduced my husband to neighbors cafe this a.m. He…likes it a lot. I am not surprised.

Just thinking…

it started as a season

I had the privilege to sit for 2.5 hours with young friends. We shared great conversation.
What a precious treasure!

We talked about boys…and love.
We talked about future…and school.
We talked about family, fairness, rebellion and a heart that God can work with.
We talked about profound grief that has grips the heart.
The patio hosting our conversation became a sanctuary–where it was safe to question and confess.
These young worshippers were transparent in their thinking and responses.
We talked about marriage and covenant.
We talked about valuing ones self–and seeing ourselves as Christ sees us.
We talked about tatoos and piercing things.
We told stories from the past.
We laughed–a lot.
We cried–a little.
We remembered when we met.
I heard them say, “these were the best years ever.”
That warms my heart.
We shared our struggles
We shared questions–and sought resolve.
God helped us…
We shared dreams.
Actually, they shared dreams and I listened.
They make me smile.
I asked them, “why do you have faith?”
Each were able to articulate for me an intentional journey they have been on in order to embrace faith for themselves today.
They love one another and love Jesus.
Yet–all, very different.
Therefore, their stories are different.
I only wish I could recap adequately.
I cannot.
These created ones have taken ahold of my heart.
I am a better Pastor because of my experiences with them.
I really believe that.
The highlight as we talked tonight was when I heard words like,
“I just realized something about God for the first time.”
and
“I’ve never thought about that before…”
These words make our time together a greater treasure.
We recognize that we will never recreate a moment just like this one.
We grieved a little.
We hugged,
I told them I was proud.
We walked away.
I am further changed.
I am grateful.

a child is born

She emerges on her own schedule and she's simply perfect.
I visited with her twice Monday and twice on Tuesday. I have not yet seen her today.
As you can imagine I am beginning to feel depleted.
Grandpa and I could be no happier than to have grandbaby #4 in our arms.
We are anxious to teach her what it means to be a Tyler and a camper.
Her "big girl" cousin will teach her and her "little girl" cousin how to have tea parties
and what it means to be royalty. 
Her "big boy" coousin will protect her and offer a gently hand.
He loves to hold babies!
Most of all, we get to be a part of moving her toward faith; what it looks like to "be" a
lover of Jesus!
And...we will have the privilege of learning from her.
Our other grandchildren have given us great insight.
I am a better Pastor because of these precious little gifts in my life!! 

Once again, new life causes us me to move to the mountain's edge taking the posture
of Mufasa as he held new baby Simba for the world to see.
God's so smart. He knew that in order to move a wayward world to place their full attention
on the Creator more than 2000 years ago, he would need to begin with a baby.
All these years later he continues to use babies to change lives and draw hearts
toward him.
This little one showed up completely dependent on those around her.
Yet, she has the power to cause activity to cease and cause a family to lean in to learn
and hear.
I don't know if she will use a pulpit or be called to proclamation of the word in a pubic arena. 
I do however know that her life will preach for she has already started.
We celebrate, joy.