Each week, I volunteer at two elementary schools. They're about 12.5 miles apart geographically, but sometimes I think they might as well exist in different universes.
Children with names like Emma, Hannah, and Nicholas attend one, while Jenesiss, Royaltee, and Danger attend the other. Children arrive at one school through a very complex carpool system, so complex that some mothers arrive an hour early to retrieve their children after school. Most of the kids at the other school either walk or ride their bikes. One group arrives to the sound of classical music being piped over the loud speaker. The other hears Beyonce coming out of a boombox in the gym. At lunchtime, most of the students at one school bring lunches packed at home, often accompanied by a note from mom. In the other cafeteria, children eat government-issued school lunch. A couple hours earlier, the kids sat in this same cafeteria eating government-issued breakfasts. If it's testing week, snacks will be provided for them, also by the government.
One school sees very little student turnover. Children's names were put on a waiting list at birth, and if they leave, even for a year, they will not get back in. This means that the same children return year after year after year, and most of them will be together at high school graduation.The class list changes weekly, if not daily, at the other school. It's not unusual to find a third grader who's already been in six or seven different elementary schools.
Reading is important at both schools. In one, students read Captain Underpants and Junie B. Jones, anything, as long as they're reading. At the other school, teachers plug classics like Misty of Chincoteague and Island of the Blue Dolphins. Occasionally reading is rewarded in this school, but children are generally taught to seek and appreciate intrinsic reward, doing something because it's the right thing to do. At the other school, rewards are everything. Kids earn tickets throughout the day, which enable them to shop at the school store. Rootbeer float parties, popsicle parties, even limo rides are offered as rewards to those who behave well, read well, test well.
One school is almost entirely paperless. Communication with parents is sent by email or text. The other school sends home every announcement three times. Field trip next Thursday? Three pieces of paper on three separate days. The reason for this makes sense, but I wouldn't have figured it out without asking someone: A child may go home with mom one day, dad the next, and grandma or an aunt or a neighbor yet another day. The school is never quite sure where the child is staying. At that school, less than 50 percent (and probably closer to 25 percent) of the children share their mother's last name. Not only is it hard knowing who lives where, it's hard keeping track of who belongs to whom. Not such an issue at the other school, where the vast majority live in homes with parents who are married to each other and have the same last name.
At one school, turning in chaperone forms is a competitive sport. The first two parents to turn in the form get a coveted spot on the field trip bus. Depending on the speaker, PTO meetings can be standing room only. Moms cut boxtops, shop at stores that give school kickbacks, organize teacher blessing weeks, and rearrange schedules so they can spy on the classroom. Er, I mean grade papers. At the other school's recent PTO meeting, not one parent showed up. This was after the triplicate paper announcements were sent home and government-issued snacks (good ones!) were purchased. The principal has determined that at this school, parent involvement means parents getting their kids to school. On time when possible. Period. Beyond this, parents don't have the luxury of time, or the stability, to spend time at their children's school, whether they want to or not.
One principal battles issues related to Common Core. The other battles issues related to attendance and tardies. Both work so hard for the children in their schools, and both lead a team of dedicated teachers who deserve twice the salary they make.
Both schools are also filled with children who think their reality is what's normal.They're children who will most likely follow in the tracks of their parents, because what their parents do is what's "normal" to them, whether that's practicing law 12 hours a day or bouncing from one minimum-wage job to the next, having a baby at 17 or waiting until they've earned a couple graduate degrees, riding the bus or driving a Lexus.
Twelve and a half miles and a whole universe apart.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Sunday, October 16, 2016
What "Evangelicals" Want
Journalists and political pundits talk a lot about evangelicals. Their interest in us is as a voting bloc, and we're getting an unusually large helping of attention right now. They want to know how we're going to vote in the upcoming election. They want to know how we make our decisions, on what issues our votes rest. I think I could save them all a lot of time and research dollars. What we want is pretty simple to identify.
First, an editorial note about the paragraphs that follow. I use the collective "we" here not because I believe I speak for everyone who checks an "evangelical" box on a survey. I use it to represent myself and the many other "evangelicals" I know. We don't go around calling ourselves that, by the way, but assuming it means we're whole-hearted followers of Jesus who believe the Bible is God's revelation to all mankind, then that's us. I'm also going to sacrifice good grammar for the sake of convenience. I will use the plural pronoun "their" for a singular person, because "he/she" is such a nuisance. Forgive me, editing friends. Try not to throw up.
What do evangelicals want in a President? We want a leader who starts every day realizing they're in over their head and turning to the One who is not. We want someone who believes daily communication with God is not only possible, but essential. We want a President who believes the Bible is the authoritative Word of God and spends good time reading it and applying it. We want someone who is humble about their successes and honest about their failures. How about just honest, period? We don't expect someone who's never told a lie, but we want someone who knows what to do about it when they do lie. Confess. Repent. Make things right. Move on and learn from it. We want someone who believes there is absolute truth, who knows where to find it, and who lives by it. We want someone who is faithful to their spouse, their children, their country, and their word, and who lives the same way whether the whole world is watching or no one is watching.
We want a leader who acts not out of selfish ambition, but out of humility. Someone who puts others' interests above their own. We want someone who loves their neighbor and their enemy, and when they fail at that (which they will), they confess, repent, make things right, move on, and learn from it. We'd like a President who takes Jesus at His word that He is the one way to the Father but who knows that forced religion was never God's idea or an effective form of evangelism. Someone who knows that every individual is free to make their own religious choices, but who lives out the faith so compellingly that the masses can't resist taking a closer look for themselves.
We want someone who knows that we fight not against flesh and blood but against the dark spiritual forces of evil, and that even if they can't say it out loud for fear of being branded a lunatic, puts on their spiritual armor every single day: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes of peace, and the helmet of salvation, armed with a shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit. We want someone who believes that peacekeepers are blessed and that the most vulnerable need protection from the strong. Yes, this is hard. That's why we need someone who prays. We want someone who knows they need wisdom and knows the only way to get it is to ask God for it, because He gives it generously.
In short, we want someone who knows there is a higher authority, and that it's not them. There is an authority higher than the people of the United States, higher than the U.S. constitution. This person will know that the true authority is the Creator, Ruler, and Judge of the Universe, the One before whom they will stand and give account for their life. We don't expect them to say they lived perfectly or did it all right. They will say what we all will say: "I am a sinner saved by grace, and I tried to follow Jesus with everything I had."
I can hear the cynics now. "The secularists will never go for it." Really? They won't go for someone who values and demonstrates love and kindness and fairness and humility? Because they have so many better options? Others might declare me too idealistic. "This person doesn't exist!" they might say. But that's not true, because I know this person. Actually, I know at least a hundred of them, and I bet you do, too. I know 16-year-old kids and 21-year-old college students who fit this description, not to mention a man who's 103 and a fleet of moms in minivans. I'd vote for any of them in this election.
Yes, you might say, but these people are all smart enough to stay out of politics. Maybe it's time we become less "smart." I have a 9-year-old daughter who wants to be the President. She talks about it all the time, while I try to convince her otherwise: "Honey, be a nurse or a teacher, something where you can really help people." But I'm rethinking this. Sixty years ago, she would have been told she couldn't be President because she's a girl. Now she's told she can't be President because she's too good a person.
We can do better, America. We've got to do better.
First, an editorial note about the paragraphs that follow. I use the collective "we" here not because I believe I speak for everyone who checks an "evangelical" box on a survey. I use it to represent myself and the many other "evangelicals" I know. We don't go around calling ourselves that, by the way, but assuming it means we're whole-hearted followers of Jesus who believe the Bible is God's revelation to all mankind, then that's us. I'm also going to sacrifice good grammar for the sake of convenience. I will use the plural pronoun "their" for a singular person, because "he/she" is such a nuisance. Forgive me, editing friends. Try not to throw up.
What do evangelicals want in a President? We want a leader who starts every day realizing they're in over their head and turning to the One who is not. We want someone who believes daily communication with God is not only possible, but essential. We want a President who believes the Bible is the authoritative Word of God and spends good time reading it and applying it. We want someone who is humble about their successes and honest about their failures. How about just honest, period? We don't expect someone who's never told a lie, but we want someone who knows what to do about it when they do lie. Confess. Repent. Make things right. Move on and learn from it. We want someone who believes there is absolute truth, who knows where to find it, and who lives by it. We want someone who is faithful to their spouse, their children, their country, and their word, and who lives the same way whether the whole world is watching or no one is watching.
We want a leader who acts not out of selfish ambition, but out of humility. Someone who puts others' interests above their own. We want someone who loves their neighbor and their enemy, and when they fail at that (which they will), they confess, repent, make things right, move on, and learn from it. We'd like a President who takes Jesus at His word that He is the one way to the Father but who knows that forced religion was never God's idea or an effective form of evangelism. Someone who knows that every individual is free to make their own religious choices, but who lives out the faith so compellingly that the masses can't resist taking a closer look for themselves.
We want someone who knows that we fight not against flesh and blood but against the dark spiritual forces of evil, and that even if they can't say it out loud for fear of being branded a lunatic, puts on their spiritual armor every single day: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes of peace, and the helmet of salvation, armed with a shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit. We want someone who believes that peacekeepers are blessed and that the most vulnerable need protection from the strong. Yes, this is hard. That's why we need someone who prays. We want someone who knows they need wisdom and knows the only way to get it is to ask God for it, because He gives it generously.
In short, we want someone who knows there is a higher authority, and that it's not them. There is an authority higher than the people of the United States, higher than the U.S. constitution. This person will know that the true authority is the Creator, Ruler, and Judge of the Universe, the One before whom they will stand and give account for their life. We don't expect them to say they lived perfectly or did it all right. They will say what we all will say: "I am a sinner saved by grace, and I tried to follow Jesus with everything I had."
I can hear the cynics now. "The secularists will never go for it." Really? They won't go for someone who values and demonstrates love and kindness and fairness and humility? Because they have so many better options? Others might declare me too idealistic. "This person doesn't exist!" they might say. But that's not true, because I know this person. Actually, I know at least a hundred of them, and I bet you do, too. I know 16-year-old kids and 21-year-old college students who fit this description, not to mention a man who's 103 and a fleet of moms in minivans. I'd vote for any of them in this election.
Yes, you might say, but these people are all smart enough to stay out of politics. Maybe it's time we become less "smart." I have a 9-year-old daughter who wants to be the President. She talks about it all the time, while I try to convince her otherwise: "Honey, be a nurse or a teacher, something where you can really help people." But I'm rethinking this. Sixty years ago, she would have been told she couldn't be President because she's a girl. Now she's told she can't be President because she's too good a person.
We can do better, America. We've got to do better.
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
A Fresh Word
I have a high school junior this year. This means that last week I toured two college campuses. It means I nag about studying for the PSAT, that I finally read those incessant emails from the high school College and Career Connections office, that I spend my free time googling things like "what do you do with a physics degree?" I don't feel ready for any of it, but when does that ever keep life from charging on?
A number of years ago, I heard Pomp and Circumstance playing while I was shopping at Sam's. I thought to myself, "Some day, that song's gonna bring me to my knees." That day is coming quick. But I don't want the song to take me down. I don't want to be leveled by the stress and emotion and finality of seeing my son finish up his time in high school and launch into the bigger world. These are exciting things! And I have never been one to want to keep my kids little. Every year they get older (which seems to happen a lot) is a year that I enjoy them more. I want to do this transitioning-my-kids-to-life-beyond-our-home thing well. I don't want to dread it, resist it, or allow it to make me crazy.
The book of Colossians is helping. Two years ago, I spent weeks poring over Colossians as part of my work. I studied Greek roots and cross-referenced dozens of verses. Passages about "putting off" and "putting on" ran through my head as I tried to sleep. By the end, I was done with Colossians. I thought it would be a good, long time before I returned to it again, and yet my reading plan has led me right back there this month.
TV preachers talk about getting a "fresh word," which makes me a little cynical. What does that even mean? God's Word is unchanging. The Colossians of two years ago is still the Colossians of today. What has changed, though, is me. I think that's at the core of a "fresh word." There are passages I'm reading now in Colossians that I didn't need two years ago--no matter how much I studied them then. But I sure need them now.
I need to heed the instruction to "set my heart on things above." I need to notice that it doesn't just say to set my heart there, but, in the very next verse, to set my mind there, too. Standardized tests and college tours are not "things above." They're important, for sure, but they're not eternal. In twenty years, they won't matter. A lot of the concerns on my mind today, the things Paul called "light and momentary troubles," won't even matter in a month. So why do I give them so much of my most precious commodity, my brain space? When my thoughts and emotions begin to work themselves into a dither, Colossians reminds me to set my heart and my mind on things above, things that will matter eternally.
And then there's Colossians 1:17. Its neighbors, verses 15 and 16, get all the attention. They contain some of the richest, most informative theology in all of Scripture, and I spent long hours studying them two years ago. How easy it was to overlook little verse 17: "He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." The "he" and "him" here are Christ. He came first, existing even before time itself, and He holds everything together. Got it. But the verse takes on new meaning when I consider myself part of "everything." It starts to look like this: "Jesus came before you, Leura, and He holds you together." Of course that means my atoms, my heartbeat, keeping me glued to the earth through gravity. But it also means He holds me together mentally and emotionally when I feel like I'm unraveling. He keeps me grounded in truth. He reins in my wild thoughts and emotions. He settles me with His peace. I am held together by one much bigger than a sentimental graduation song or a FAFSA form.
My kids are all going to grow up and leave my house (we hope). My friends will move. My health will fail. Lord only knows what will happen in our nation. Constant change and periodic stress are guaranteed. But so is the fact that Jesus Christ, creator of everything, holds us together. Fix your mind on that today.
A number of years ago, I heard Pomp and Circumstance playing while I was shopping at Sam's. I thought to myself, "Some day, that song's gonna bring me to my knees." That day is coming quick. But I don't want the song to take me down. I don't want to be leveled by the stress and emotion and finality of seeing my son finish up his time in high school and launch into the bigger world. These are exciting things! And I have never been one to want to keep my kids little. Every year they get older (which seems to happen a lot) is a year that I enjoy them more. I want to do this transitioning-my-kids-to-life-beyond-our-home thing well. I don't want to dread it, resist it, or allow it to make me crazy.
The book of Colossians is helping. Two years ago, I spent weeks poring over Colossians as part of my work. I studied Greek roots and cross-referenced dozens of verses. Passages about "putting off" and "putting on" ran through my head as I tried to sleep. By the end, I was done with Colossians. I thought it would be a good, long time before I returned to it again, and yet my reading plan has led me right back there this month.
TV preachers talk about getting a "fresh word," which makes me a little cynical. What does that even mean? God's Word is unchanging. The Colossians of two years ago is still the Colossians of today. What has changed, though, is me. I think that's at the core of a "fresh word." There are passages I'm reading now in Colossians that I didn't need two years ago--no matter how much I studied them then. But I sure need them now.
I need to heed the instruction to "set my heart on things above." I need to notice that it doesn't just say to set my heart there, but, in the very next verse, to set my mind there, too. Standardized tests and college tours are not "things above." They're important, for sure, but they're not eternal. In twenty years, they won't matter. A lot of the concerns on my mind today, the things Paul called "light and momentary troubles," won't even matter in a month. So why do I give them so much of my most precious commodity, my brain space? When my thoughts and emotions begin to work themselves into a dither, Colossians reminds me to set my heart and my mind on things above, things that will matter eternally.
And then there's Colossians 1:17. Its neighbors, verses 15 and 16, get all the attention. They contain some of the richest, most informative theology in all of Scripture, and I spent long hours studying them two years ago. How easy it was to overlook little verse 17: "He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." The "he" and "him" here are Christ. He came first, existing even before time itself, and He holds everything together. Got it. But the verse takes on new meaning when I consider myself part of "everything." It starts to look like this: "Jesus came before you, Leura, and He holds you together." Of course that means my atoms, my heartbeat, keeping me glued to the earth through gravity. But it also means He holds me together mentally and emotionally when I feel like I'm unraveling. He keeps me grounded in truth. He reins in my wild thoughts and emotions. He settles me with His peace. I am held together by one much bigger than a sentimental graduation song or a FAFSA form.
My kids are all going to grow up and leave my house (we hope). My friends will move. My health will fail. Lord only knows what will happen in our nation. Constant change and periodic stress are guaranteed. But so is the fact that Jesus Christ, creator of everything, holds us together. Fix your mind on that today.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
When Weight Is Good
Here's my cool discovery of the month that maybe the rest of you have always known. The Hebrew word for "glory" is kabod, which literally means heavy or weighty. I did not learn this from C.S. Lewis. The Weight of Glory is one of my favorites, but the significance of the title was lost on me. I learned it instead from Os Guinness in his new book Impossible People. Guinness is blowing my mind on several fronts, but it's this point, this month, that I think is worth pondering more deeply.
Drawing on the writings of a Polish sociologist, he posits the idea that our world has become more "liquid." He contrasts that with a solid, "something that has sufficient bonding to be able to hold its atoms together and therefore retain its shape. Fluids are ready to change their shape at any moment according to the space they occupy." Guinness believes that we have moved from a fixed, solid world, anchored in faith in God and strong institutions like marriage, family, and church, to the fluid world of modernity, "where everything always changes and nothing keeps its shape for very long."
Modern life offers no end of options (look no further than Facebook's "gender fluid" category), but, as Guinness says, "each one carries a sense of frailty, temporariness, and vulnerability. People and things are always becoming, but they never become anything for long. They are undefined, incomplete, indeterminate, and open to the new."
He describes the limitless options found in a liquid world and the highest priority, which is the freedom to choose: "The worst thing is to mortgage your future by a choice that is binding and allows you no freedom to change or move on. After all, there may be a better option tomorrow, a higher-paying job down the road, a more attractive husband, wife, or partner at the next party, or a more spacious and magnificent home elsewhere, or a more appealing identity and a more fashionable sexual orientation."
Os Guinness is a smart man who thinks in lofty concepts, big words, and long sentences. But I'm tracking with him. I feel what he's saying. I search for the substance in this world, and it's nearly impossible to find. The news (if you can even call it that) is delivered in soundbites. Snapchat users send each other messages that disappear after a few seconds. Strangers have sex and never see each other again. Relational fidelity is optional. There are people far more loyal to their sports team than to their employer or their spouse. We're only loosely committed to life itself. Suicide, abortion, lethal heroin use, and end-of-life "mercy killing" are among our endless options.
The "lightness" appears even in our churches. Our songs are light and airy. Sermons seem to be getting shorter and trendier. Our youth groups, at least some of them, seem shallow. Most noticeable of all, the Scriptures are up for interpretation. Take this passage and make what you want of it. Surely God didn't intend for us to have any absolutes. It's really just about love; none of that other stuff matters.
Enough with the liquid! I can live on smoothies for a while, but eventually I long for a pot roast. Give me something solid. Tether me to something big enough, strong enough, heavy enough to keep me from floating off into nothingness. I want real meaning, real truth, something timeless, eternal, lasting. Something with weight.
And then I discover the word kabod, the glory of God. Weightiness. Substance. True reality. When people resist this, Guinness writes, they "cut themselves off from the ultimate ground of reality, and in the end they do indeed become weightless, insubstantial, light as air, ephemeral, or, in the terms used by the prophets, 'weighed in the balances and found wanting' (Daniel 5:27, KJV)."
The counter to temporary everything, to meaninglessness and emptiness, is glory. God's glory. It's more than a song lyric. More than an abstract concept. More than even a manifestation of His awesome presence. It's what keeps us grounded, tied to the truth that's bigger than ourselves, bigger than the next big thing the world gets all excited about and then forgets just as quickly (Pokemon Go?).
Moses made an outrageously bold request of God. He asked to see God's glory. What I'm asking is to feel it. The Weight of Glory.
Drawing on the writings of a Polish sociologist, he posits the idea that our world has become more "liquid." He contrasts that with a solid, "something that has sufficient bonding to be able to hold its atoms together and therefore retain its shape. Fluids are ready to change their shape at any moment according to the space they occupy." Guinness believes that we have moved from a fixed, solid world, anchored in faith in God and strong institutions like marriage, family, and church, to the fluid world of modernity, "where everything always changes and nothing keeps its shape for very long."
Modern life offers no end of options (look no further than Facebook's "gender fluid" category), but, as Guinness says, "each one carries a sense of frailty, temporariness, and vulnerability. People and things are always becoming, but they never become anything for long. They are undefined, incomplete, indeterminate, and open to the new."
He describes the limitless options found in a liquid world and the highest priority, which is the freedom to choose: "The worst thing is to mortgage your future by a choice that is binding and allows you no freedom to change or move on. After all, there may be a better option tomorrow, a higher-paying job down the road, a more attractive husband, wife, or partner at the next party, or a more spacious and magnificent home elsewhere, or a more appealing identity and a more fashionable sexual orientation."
Os Guinness is a smart man who thinks in lofty concepts, big words, and long sentences. But I'm tracking with him. I feel what he's saying. I search for the substance in this world, and it's nearly impossible to find. The news (if you can even call it that) is delivered in soundbites. Snapchat users send each other messages that disappear after a few seconds. Strangers have sex and never see each other again. Relational fidelity is optional. There are people far more loyal to their sports team than to their employer or their spouse. We're only loosely committed to life itself. Suicide, abortion, lethal heroin use, and end-of-life "mercy killing" are among our endless options.
The "lightness" appears even in our churches. Our songs are light and airy. Sermons seem to be getting shorter and trendier. Our youth groups, at least some of them, seem shallow. Most noticeable of all, the Scriptures are up for interpretation. Take this passage and make what you want of it. Surely God didn't intend for us to have any absolutes. It's really just about love; none of that other stuff matters.
Enough with the liquid! I can live on smoothies for a while, but eventually I long for a pot roast. Give me something solid. Tether me to something big enough, strong enough, heavy enough to keep me from floating off into nothingness. I want real meaning, real truth, something timeless, eternal, lasting. Something with weight.
And then I discover the word kabod, the glory of God. Weightiness. Substance. True reality. When people resist this, Guinness writes, they "cut themselves off from the ultimate ground of reality, and in the end they do indeed become weightless, insubstantial, light as air, ephemeral, or, in the terms used by the prophets, 'weighed in the balances and found wanting' (Daniel 5:27, KJV)."
The counter to temporary everything, to meaninglessness and emptiness, is glory. God's glory. It's more than a song lyric. More than an abstract concept. More than even a manifestation of His awesome presence. It's what keeps us grounded, tied to the truth that's bigger than ourselves, bigger than the next big thing the world gets all excited about and then forgets just as quickly (Pokemon Go?).
Moses made an outrageously bold request of God. He asked to see God's glory. What I'm asking is to feel it. The Weight of Glory.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Response to a Big Question
About once a year, maybe twice if I'm lucky, I get together with what I call my "man friends." These are former coworkers whose paths no longer cross my own without some intentionality. Meeting with my man friends is nothing like meeting with my mom friends. Our conversation about our kids consists of this: "Your kids fine?" "Yep. How 'bout yours?" "Fine." And then we move on. Such a different world! These men are smarter, deeper, more informed, and better read than I am. They are thinkers and writers and storytellers. I'm so glad they keep me in their company.
As we sat around a Panera's table this summer, a rain storm raging outside the windows, we talked about the sad, scary state of the world. We all feel it. I don't know anyone who doesn't feel it, at least not anyone over the age of 12. After venting our concerns and frustrations, one friend asked, "So what is your response?" It was not a lofty question—"How should the church respond?"—but a practical one. A personal one.
That one question set off an avalanche of thoughts in my head. It drew together many threads from the past year. Thoughts I've had about my purpose and mission in this life. Things I've seen other people give their lives to but haven't quite latched onto myself. I don't know what clamor of words tumbled out of my mouth at the table that day, but I can succinctly give my answer now: I want to bring mature disciples to the throne of God. That is my offering, my worship. I want to be able to say, like the Apostle Paul, "We proclaim Him, admonishing every man and teaching every man with all wisdom, so that we may present every man complete in Christ. For this purpose also I labor, striving according to His power, which mightily works within me" (Colossians 1:28-29). Except instead of men, I want to be part of presenting "women and girls" complete in Christ. It's for them I want to labor.
Jean Fleming, commenting on this passage, wrote, "Paul desired to make a harvest offering to Christ, the fruit of his labors—mature followers of Christ. Paul was perplexed and pained. Why were they not living in the freedom and joy Christ offers? God intended more for them than just squeaking through the turnstile at heaven's gate."
I see followers of Christ living defeated, deceived lives, and I wonder the same thing. We were made for so much more.
That sounds like a very pie-in-the-sky answer to the practical question my friend asked. So here's the more down-to-earth answer: My response to the messy, scary chaos that we see on the news and feel in our souls is to point people toward the truth. Not one of a million ideas floated just today into the public forum posing as truth, but real truth. The kind that has always existed and will last through all eternity because it comes from the almighty maker of heaven and earth. In a topsy-turvy, anything-goes world, I want people to see that there is a true north. God's Word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our paths. I want to teach young girls that God's Word is the only place to find truth about their identity. I want to teach teenage girls that what they believe about God and His Word really does affect the way they act and talk at school. The Bible is not old-fashioned or irrelevant to what they're facing in their junior high or high school halls. It is their compass.
I can't change the world. I've got too much laundry to do, and carpool starts in half an hour. But investing in 5 or 25 or even 55 (dream big, right?) girls and women and pointing them to truth? Helping them see the power of Christ that lives in them? Exhorting them to truth and hope? Trusting God to let me be a part of making them mature disciples? That's what I can do. That's my response.
Have you thought about yours?
As we sat around a Panera's table this summer, a rain storm raging outside the windows, we talked about the sad, scary state of the world. We all feel it. I don't know anyone who doesn't feel it, at least not anyone over the age of 12. After venting our concerns and frustrations, one friend asked, "So what is your response?" It was not a lofty question—"How should the church respond?"—but a practical one. A personal one.
That one question set off an avalanche of thoughts in my head. It drew together many threads from the past year. Thoughts I've had about my purpose and mission in this life. Things I've seen other people give their lives to but haven't quite latched onto myself. I don't know what clamor of words tumbled out of my mouth at the table that day, but I can succinctly give my answer now: I want to bring mature disciples to the throne of God. That is my offering, my worship. I want to be able to say, like the Apostle Paul, "We proclaim Him, admonishing every man and teaching every man with all wisdom, so that we may present every man complete in Christ. For this purpose also I labor, striving according to His power, which mightily works within me" (Colossians 1:28-29). Except instead of men, I want to be part of presenting "women and girls" complete in Christ. It's for them I want to labor.
Jean Fleming, commenting on this passage, wrote, "Paul desired to make a harvest offering to Christ, the fruit of his labors—mature followers of Christ. Paul was perplexed and pained. Why were they not living in the freedom and joy Christ offers? God intended more for them than just squeaking through the turnstile at heaven's gate."
I see followers of Christ living defeated, deceived lives, and I wonder the same thing. We were made for so much more.
That sounds like a very pie-in-the-sky answer to the practical question my friend asked. So here's the more down-to-earth answer: My response to the messy, scary chaos that we see on the news and feel in our souls is to point people toward the truth. Not one of a million ideas floated just today into the public forum posing as truth, but real truth. The kind that has always existed and will last through all eternity because it comes from the almighty maker of heaven and earth. In a topsy-turvy, anything-goes world, I want people to see that there is a true north. God's Word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our paths. I want to teach young girls that God's Word is the only place to find truth about their identity. I want to teach teenage girls that what they believe about God and His Word really does affect the way they act and talk at school. The Bible is not old-fashioned or irrelevant to what they're facing in their junior high or high school halls. It is their compass.
I can't change the world. I've got too much laundry to do, and carpool starts in half an hour. But investing in 5 or 25 or even 55 (dream big, right?) girls and women and pointing them to truth? Helping them see the power of Christ that lives in them? Exhorting them to truth and hope? Trusting God to let me be a part of making them mature disciples? That's what I can do. That's my response.
Have you thought about yours?
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Losing Jesus
I've had words spinning in my head for several weeks, thoughts on summer ending and school starting that I thought I needed to put out there and share with my tiny part of the world. I even got most of it written down, just yesterday.
And then today happened. I got a good, stiff slap-in-the-face. I needed it. Thank you, God, I needed it. It came in the form of a message spoken by a man named Jossy Chacko. If you haven't heard of him, google him and the work he's doing in India. His message was that we've lost Jesus. The church in the United States, in particular, has lost Jesus. He said we've lost our focus, our sense of mission. Like Mary and Joseph traveling home from Jerusalem at the end of Luke 2, we've gotten distracted by all that encumbers us and we've taken our eyes off Jesus, losing Him in the crowd.
Imagine this, Jossy explained. Imagine Michael Phelps standing atop his pool platform, ready to live out his life's purpose and mission. It's to swim. Just swim as fast as he can. But then someone switches on a TV. There's a game on, and it's Michael's favorite team. His eyes slip away from the pool. The settle on the game, quickly at first, fleetingly, but then he hears the roar of the TV crowd, and he has to look again. The game now has his attention, so much so that when the buzzer sounds to start his race, he falters. Instead of jumping in the pool, he stands on the platform, dazed and distracted. He's lost his focus.
There's no chance that's ever gonna happen, right? It's a picture so ridiculous that it makes its point well. Face-slappingly well. I have a purpose and a mission. To borrow from The Navigators, it's to know Christ and to make Him known. I was born for this. I've trained for it nearly my whole life. It's what I want to do more than anything in the world. And yet as I stand on the platform of my life, preparing to jump in and swim with all I've got, the distractions are everywhere. I actually jump in, swim for a while, and then crawl back out to get a closer look at the distractions.
They're no small distractions. The political election seems monumental. Issues with my husband's business buzz around our heads. The day-to-day work of raising these four kids--feeding them and getting them to soccer and looking into colleges--seems so big. There are broken things that need fixed and empty things that need filled. And just think of all the good books that could be read and the movies that could be watched. It's not that these things are evil or that they're wasting my time. It's that they steal away my focus. They take my eyes off Jesus. They keep me out of the pool. My Enemy knows he's not going to get me to renounce my faith or fall into a life of crime or prostitution, but if he can just keep me stressing over what to make for dinner, over which class my kids end up in and buying their school supplies, over how much I dislike transitions and cold weather and limited daylight hours, then he's got me in his grasp. He's pulled my eyes off Jesus. He's incapacitated me and kept me from my mission.
I am a truth crier. When truth is resonating deep within my soul, it pours out through my eyes. As I heard the message this morning, the tears dropped uncontrollably into my lap. Jossy Chacko was talking to me. I so easily lose Jesus. I lose sight of Him. I get worked up about this, that, and the other. I gripe and complain. I worry. I obsess about my schedule and a few gained pounds and who's going to drive who where. And Jesus gets fuzzier and fuzzier, until He's altogether out of focus.
Of the many responses I had this morning, one was an urge to apologize to my kids. From what they observe on a daily basis, they could easily think my purpose and mission is to keep the living room picked up or to keep myself in good shape. Cleanliness and physical fitness are good qualities, but they're not my mission. Do my kids see me living out my real mission? Would they say I've spent their lifetimes teaching them, more than anything else, about Jesus? Not just about being a good, responsible human being who can write a good sentence and earn a good living some day. Have I taught them that their number-one mission on this earth is to know Christ and make Him known and that everything else pales in comparison? I'm sad to say that I don't know how they would answer that question.
I go to bed tonight thankful for that slap in the face. It's still stinging. I hope it's stinging tomorrow and the next day and the next day. God, forgive me for being so easily distracted. Fix my eyes on You alone.
And then today happened. I got a good, stiff slap-in-the-face. I needed it. Thank you, God, I needed it. It came in the form of a message spoken by a man named Jossy Chacko. If you haven't heard of him, google him and the work he's doing in India. His message was that we've lost Jesus. The church in the United States, in particular, has lost Jesus. He said we've lost our focus, our sense of mission. Like Mary and Joseph traveling home from Jerusalem at the end of Luke 2, we've gotten distracted by all that encumbers us and we've taken our eyes off Jesus, losing Him in the crowd.
Imagine this, Jossy explained. Imagine Michael Phelps standing atop his pool platform, ready to live out his life's purpose and mission. It's to swim. Just swim as fast as he can. But then someone switches on a TV. There's a game on, and it's Michael's favorite team. His eyes slip away from the pool. The settle on the game, quickly at first, fleetingly, but then he hears the roar of the TV crowd, and he has to look again. The game now has his attention, so much so that when the buzzer sounds to start his race, he falters. Instead of jumping in the pool, he stands on the platform, dazed and distracted. He's lost his focus.
There's no chance that's ever gonna happen, right? It's a picture so ridiculous that it makes its point well. Face-slappingly well. I have a purpose and a mission. To borrow from The Navigators, it's to know Christ and to make Him known. I was born for this. I've trained for it nearly my whole life. It's what I want to do more than anything in the world. And yet as I stand on the platform of my life, preparing to jump in and swim with all I've got, the distractions are everywhere. I actually jump in, swim for a while, and then crawl back out to get a closer look at the distractions.
They're no small distractions. The political election seems monumental. Issues with my husband's business buzz around our heads. The day-to-day work of raising these four kids--feeding them and getting them to soccer and looking into colleges--seems so big. There are broken things that need fixed and empty things that need filled. And just think of all the good books that could be read and the movies that could be watched. It's not that these things are evil or that they're wasting my time. It's that they steal away my focus. They take my eyes off Jesus. They keep me out of the pool. My Enemy knows he's not going to get me to renounce my faith or fall into a life of crime or prostitution, but if he can just keep me stressing over what to make for dinner, over which class my kids end up in and buying their school supplies, over how much I dislike transitions and cold weather and limited daylight hours, then he's got me in his grasp. He's pulled my eyes off Jesus. He's incapacitated me and kept me from my mission.
I am a truth crier. When truth is resonating deep within my soul, it pours out through my eyes. As I heard the message this morning, the tears dropped uncontrollably into my lap. Jossy Chacko was talking to me. I so easily lose Jesus. I lose sight of Him. I get worked up about this, that, and the other. I gripe and complain. I worry. I obsess about my schedule and a few gained pounds and who's going to drive who where. And Jesus gets fuzzier and fuzzier, until He's altogether out of focus.
Of the many responses I had this morning, one was an urge to apologize to my kids. From what they observe on a daily basis, they could easily think my purpose and mission is to keep the living room picked up or to keep myself in good shape. Cleanliness and physical fitness are good qualities, but they're not my mission. Do my kids see me living out my real mission? Would they say I've spent their lifetimes teaching them, more than anything else, about Jesus? Not just about being a good, responsible human being who can write a good sentence and earn a good living some day. Have I taught them that their number-one mission on this earth is to know Christ and make Him known and that everything else pales in comparison? I'm sad to say that I don't know how they would answer that question.
I go to bed tonight thankful for that slap in the face. It's still stinging. I hope it's stinging tomorrow and the next day and the next day. God, forgive me for being so easily distracted. Fix my eyes on You alone.
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Final Thoughts (for now) on Teens and Social Media
Zits and hormones. Chemistry tests, ACT tests, driving tests. Does he like me or doesn't he? Being a teenager has never been easy. Bills and jobs, marriage and parenting aren't a piece of cake, but I can't think of any adult who'd want to go back to being a teenager. And I know for sure I wouldn't want to be a teenager today. Reading the book American Girls has made me more aware of that than ever. Kids have always had to deal with self-consciousness, bullying, peer-pressure, and sexual issues, but not like they do now. Everything about our world is faster, more intense, more revved-up than ever before. It's more connected, for better and for worse. These changes have brought new levels of pressure to our teenagers that previous generations didn't know.
When I was in high school, I dealt with my peers from 8 to 3, five days a week. I took weekends, evenings, and summers off with only a few exceptions for close friends. I knew other kids from my school were whooping it up on Saturday night, but I had no evidence of it, no idea what I was missing, and I was happy to hunker down at home, grab a bowl of Cheerios, and watch an episode of Moonlighting (in real time, with commercials). Today there is no unplugging. Teenagers today are connected 24/7. Even if their parents mandate time away from social media, the young minds are still churning, churning away, wondering what they're missing, worrying that life is happening without them.
I knew a little bit about this before I read American Girls. Times have changed, things are hard, yeah, yeah. But really, I knew nothing. My teenagers and their friends aren't a real accurate picture of the bigger world. And let's face it; I'm old and out of touch. A curtain has always existed between the generations. Sometimes we can peek through it or around it, but it's there, and it's not budging. In some ways it's a healthy and necessary curtain. We parents want our kids to grow up, to take ownership of their lives, to organize their own schedules and be responsible for their own commitments. I like a nice, breezy, sheer curtain. With this generation, in particular, however, the curtain seems to have become an impenetrable drape. Technology, in large part, has been the seamstress. Parents, non-natives in this new world, stand on one side of the technological curtain, and teenagers, with their ever-changing apps, stand on the other. This is why I am thankful for Nancy Jo Sales's book. It pulled back the curtain. Here, boiled down, are some things it revealed to me:
I hope that by sharing the "highlights" of this book, I've given you a peek behind the curtain. I am no expert, and I don't presume to think I have all the solutions to the disturbing information presented in the book. The author proposed renewed feminism as a solution. That seems like a hollow answer to me. My answer, if I have one, is for parents to delay, delay, delay. Hold off on bringing new technology into our kids' lives. Choose "dumb" phones, which very well may be a smarter phone for a young teenager. For those whose kids have social media, we need to stay in our kids' business. Have family meals. Don't go our separate ways after dinner. Do homework in a community space. Know our kids' friends. Know what's on our kids' phones. Know what they're posting and viewing online. Know that they will cover things up, and they're smarter and slicker at this than we can imagine. Think hard about how much personal privacy they want versus how much they need. A violation of their personal privacy is better than a middle-of-the-night trip to the ER because they've tried to hurt themselves.
We can't check out. I know how easy it is. They drive, they have their own lives, they don't appear to need us as much. It's tempting to take our new-found time and launch ourselves into work or house projects or volunteering or our own social media worlds. But I so strongly believe that a 16-year-old needs a parent every bit as much as a 3-year-old, and possibly even more. This is not the time to check out. This is the time to put on our big-girl (and boy) parenting panties and do the hard, sometimes uncomfortable work of teaching and guiding teenagers. And while we're at it, let's watch what we're modeling. Am I texting while driving? Do I put my gadgets away when my kids enter the room and give them my full attention? Am I berating myself over a new pimple or a couple added pounds? How quick am I to criticize and ridicule others? They. Are. Watching. Us.
And as I said a month ago, we've got to pray. Even intentional, engaged parents are not going to catch everything. I know I'm not aware of everything going on under my roof. We have limited our kids' technology as much as just about anyone. But we can't limit what their friends are doing. We have no say in what's being passed around on the phone in the cafeteria. We've tried to teach them well, but they're going to make bad choices and stumble into bad situations. They're going to stay silent when they should speak up, and they're going to hide something when they know it's wrong. This is why I pray. I ask God to bring the things of darkness into the light. I ask Him to make my kids get caught, and for their friends to get caught. I pray that they will learn from their mistakes the first time, the easy way. And I pray that He'll give me the discipline and wisdom to stay at it, to not check out, to not be deceived when everything feels fine but it's not. I pray for the kids who don't live in my house, for those who will be my kids' roommates and spouses and coworkers and neighbors. For those who will be my dentist and maybe even my caregiver some day. God, be real to them. Show them that you alone are life and truth, joy and fulfillment, hope and peace. Pursue them relentlessly. Let them know that love is not just a word. It's a Person. Amen.
When I was in high school, I dealt with my peers from 8 to 3, five days a week. I took weekends, evenings, and summers off with only a few exceptions for close friends. I knew other kids from my school were whooping it up on Saturday night, but I had no evidence of it, no idea what I was missing, and I was happy to hunker down at home, grab a bowl of Cheerios, and watch an episode of Moonlighting (in real time, with commercials). Today there is no unplugging. Teenagers today are connected 24/7. Even if their parents mandate time away from social media, the young minds are still churning, churning away, wondering what they're missing, worrying that life is happening without them.
I knew a little bit about this before I read American Girls. Times have changed, things are hard, yeah, yeah. But really, I knew nothing. My teenagers and their friends aren't a real accurate picture of the bigger world. And let's face it; I'm old and out of touch. A curtain has always existed between the generations. Sometimes we can peek through it or around it, but it's there, and it's not budging. In some ways it's a healthy and necessary curtain. We parents want our kids to grow up, to take ownership of their lives, to organize their own schedules and be responsible for their own commitments. I like a nice, breezy, sheer curtain. With this generation, in particular, however, the curtain seems to have become an impenetrable drape. Technology, in large part, has been the seamstress. Parents, non-natives in this new world, stand on one side of the technological curtain, and teenagers, with their ever-changing apps, stand on the other. This is why I am thankful for Nancy Jo Sales's book. It pulled back the curtain. Here, boiled down, are some things it revealed to me:
- Social media addiction starts early, and the younger it starts, the more controlling it is.
- Teen girls, and likely teen boys, have a love-hate relationship with social media. It makes them anxious, untrusting, and obsessive, but they can't imagine their lives without it. As one girl put it, better to let it ruin your life than to have no life at all.
- Teens are spending less time in person with one another, and when they are together, they're spending less time talking. One 16-year-old girl said: "I find most of the time I'm with my friends, I feel so disconnected because of the technology. They're always on their phones to play a game or see what someone else is doing somewhere else." What effect will this have on their ability to interact as adults?
- No one on teenage social media can escape being bullied, and nearly everyone will display their own bullying behavior, whether they recognize it or not. Everyone will be ridiculed. Everyone will ridicule.
- Because life on social media is perceived as "not real," teens can make more impulsive decisions on it. "The younger you get a phone, the more impulsive your decision are," said one 14-year-old.
- Sex is prolific on social media. It is "normal" for 14-year-old girls and boys to have dozens of nude pictures on their phones.
- The author contends that nearly every school has "slut pages," a site for boys to rank girls according to who's loose, who's hot, and who's not. Sometimes mothers are listed.
- Porn is one click away at all times. Follow an innocent hashtag for a couple clicks, and you're going to see hard-core porn the likes of which Hugh Hefner never imagined.
- The porn industry has hijacked social media, especially the kind designed for young people, and we cannot underestimate its power or prevalence in our kids' lives. Do not believe that your kid is the exception.
- With porn as their model, boys have come to expect "porny" encounters with girls, and girls have learned to provide it. What will the future ramifications be on marriage, intimacy, and fidelity?
- "There is no trust in our generation. Love is just a word; it has no meaning." --14-year-old girl
- Parents don't usually get involved in their teens' online lives until there's a crisis, and crisis is likely: cutting, eating disorders, attempted suicide, or criminal activity. Child porn is still a crime, even if it's a couple of 15-year-olds sending nude pictures of themselves back and forth. Lawmakers are puzzling over what to do about this.
- The author laments that we've taken huge steps back from the progress made in gender equality in the past 30 years. There are plenty of girls still going to college, but there are also plenty who just want to be "hot and famous." Their role models are the Kardashians and beauty vloggers like Jenna Marbles, who instructs viewers to "bleach the absolute **** out of their hair," go tanning, wear contacts, and cake on makeup. She has well over 15 million subscribers, most of them teen girls.
I hope that by sharing the "highlights" of this book, I've given you a peek behind the curtain. I am no expert, and I don't presume to think I have all the solutions to the disturbing information presented in the book. The author proposed renewed feminism as a solution. That seems like a hollow answer to me. My answer, if I have one, is for parents to delay, delay, delay. Hold off on bringing new technology into our kids' lives. Choose "dumb" phones, which very well may be a smarter phone for a young teenager. For those whose kids have social media, we need to stay in our kids' business. Have family meals. Don't go our separate ways after dinner. Do homework in a community space. Know our kids' friends. Know what's on our kids' phones. Know what they're posting and viewing online. Know that they will cover things up, and they're smarter and slicker at this than we can imagine. Think hard about how much personal privacy they want versus how much they need. A violation of their personal privacy is better than a middle-of-the-night trip to the ER because they've tried to hurt themselves.
We can't check out. I know how easy it is. They drive, they have their own lives, they don't appear to need us as much. It's tempting to take our new-found time and launch ourselves into work or house projects or volunteering or our own social media worlds. But I so strongly believe that a 16-year-old needs a parent every bit as much as a 3-year-old, and possibly even more. This is not the time to check out. This is the time to put on our big-girl (and boy) parenting panties and do the hard, sometimes uncomfortable work of teaching and guiding teenagers. And while we're at it, let's watch what we're modeling. Am I texting while driving? Do I put my gadgets away when my kids enter the room and give them my full attention? Am I berating myself over a new pimple or a couple added pounds? How quick am I to criticize and ridicule others? They. Are. Watching. Us.
And as I said a month ago, we've got to pray. Even intentional, engaged parents are not going to catch everything. I know I'm not aware of everything going on under my roof. We have limited our kids' technology as much as just about anyone. But we can't limit what their friends are doing. We have no say in what's being passed around on the phone in the cafeteria. We've tried to teach them well, but they're going to make bad choices and stumble into bad situations. They're going to stay silent when they should speak up, and they're going to hide something when they know it's wrong. This is why I pray. I ask God to bring the things of darkness into the light. I ask Him to make my kids get caught, and for their friends to get caught. I pray that they will learn from their mistakes the first time, the easy way. And I pray that He'll give me the discipline and wisdom to stay at it, to not check out, to not be deceived when everything feels fine but it's not. I pray for the kids who don't live in my house, for those who will be my kids' roommates and spouses and coworkers and neighbors. For those who will be my dentist and maybe even my caregiver some day. God, be real to them. Show them that you alone are life and truth, joy and fulfillment, hope and peace. Pursue them relentlessly. Let them know that love is not just a word. It's a Person. Amen.
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