Justice, Kindness, and Humility

My daughter's fourth grade class recently visited the state capitol. No surprise, they ran into protesters there, some of them touting colorful language on their signs.

The kids returned to school with about an hour left in their day. After a field trip, especially the kind that keeps 9- and 10-year-olds on a bus for a couple hours, this means an extended recess. As it's winter in Colorado, the teachers told the kids they needed to wear their coats outside. This is how my daughter explained to me what happened next: "We didn't want to wear our coats, so we had a protest."

Conceivably, there may be parents who would erupt with pride over this statement. Their child was standing up for her right to make her own choices, making her voice heard, fighting against tyranny. I am not one of those parents. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe in respecting authority. When I dug a little deeper, it became clear that this was not an all-out protest by a pack of screaming fourth graders. It was a few little girls whining about having to wear their coats, and the teacher didn't even know about it. Still, Camryn had chosen the words, "have a protest." Because this is the language of the day.

I know that injustice exists in this world. In fact, nowhere do you find more talk about justice than in the Bible. For many years, one of my favorite verses has been Micah 6:8: "He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"

I love this verse because justice is linked closely with kindness and humility. God absolutely cares about justice, but He also cares about how we carry it out. There is no humility in a 9-year-old grumbling against a teacher who is looking out for her best interest. There is no kindness in covering posterboards in mean-spirited profanity and parading them around school kids who are trying to learn more about their government.

The Bible's focus is not so much about fighting injustice, but on doing justice. Be fair. Don't cheat or steal. Look out for those who are weaker. Love the widow and the fatherless and the resident alien among you (Jeremiah 22:3).

There are times when we have to cry out on behalf of injustice, when those who follow God carry His truth out into the streets. Martin Luther King, Jr. is a shining example of this. But God's other commands don't go by the wayside in favor of fighting injustice. Kindness, love, and humility still matter. I would argue, in fact, that we need to spend more time training our children and ourselves in those "harder" virtues than in those that come more naturally. My kids came out of the womb knowing how to fight for what they thought was right. Getting angry and speaking up has never been a problem for them, or for just about anyone else I know. It's knowing when to speak up--and how to do it without sinning or causing others to stumble--that requires wisdom and maturity.

The Bible is as clear in its teaching to honor authority (Romans 13:1, 1 Peter 2:13 and 5:5) as it is to follow the way of justice. When these two come into conflict, protesting may be one way to respond. But 4th graders and grown-ups alike need to remember that justice without kindness and humility is nothing more than a clanging cymbal.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing. 
1 Corinthians 13:1-3

Inauguration Day Thoughts

I appreciate that there are many who see today as a national day of mourning. I am certainly not doing any cartwheels myself. But I did see a few bright spots in the Inauguration ceremony today.

First, I am grateful and surprised that we live in a country in which the Word of God is still a prominent part of the biggest political event in the land. The name of Jesus was boldly proclaimed, and prayers were made in His name. The beatitudes were spoken over a nation who needs to hear them: Blessed are the poor in Spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are those who are meek, merciful, and pure of heart. And perhaps most timely of all, blessed are the peacemakers. My favorite non-scriptural quote came from Rabbi Marvin Hier, who said that a nation's wealth is measured by its values, not its vaults. This after repeated promises by our new President to bring back America's wealth. Well said, Rabbi.

Second, no matter what you think of President Obama, you had to respect his dignity today. You know this was hard, brutally hard, for him. He and his wife would probably much rather poke Donald Trump with a sharp stick than embrace and applaud him, but they did so graciously. After a searing speech in which the new President pinned all of the nation's woes on his back, Mr. Obama smiled warmly, extended his hand, and said, "Good job." I completely disagree with his politics, but I respect and appreciate his maturity, his poise, his faithfulness as a husband and father, and the dignity he brought to the presidency.

And finally, no matter how many times you witness it, you can never stop marveling at the peaceful, honorable transfer of power that we Americans are privileged to enjoy. Yes, the election was ugly and nothing to be proud of. But today? Today was America at its best. Political rivals sat side by side and accepted a new person with radically different ideas and policies. No wars broke out. No one was assassinated. Some boycotters boycotted and some protesters protested, but even that is evidence of a privileged America. Can we ever grasp how radical--maybe even miraculous--our Constitution is? And that generation after generation submit to it, abide by it, and carry it out? Like clockwork, the 45th President was sworn in at 12:00 on January 20, no matter the outcry that preceded it. Remarkable.

And now, Inauguration Day winding down, we do what God's people do every day. We pray for wisdom for our leaders, and we rejoice that there is only one King, and that He never changes.

A New Thing

How many times in the past week did you hear this verse of Scripture?

"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." Isaiah 43:19

As the new year approached, everywhere I turned, it seemed I was bumping up against that verse. But this year I heard it differently than I have in the past. This year I can actually see the new thing God is doing for me. And, here we go again, it involves the new dog.

We live on 3.5 acres. Most of that consists of a sticker-and-weeds-filled field some distance from our house. My husband turned it into a small track for his dirt bike, and the kids sometimes ride the ATV around it. Prior to November, I had been out there only a handful of times in four years. Then the puppy arrived. His level of fatigue directly corresponds to our level of peace and enjoyment. We started taking him to the "track" to run out his energy. There are neighboring houses in the distance and a major road some 40 yards away, separated from our field by a stickery slope and a barbed-wire fence. But Oakley is codependent in the healthiest of ways and sticks pretty close. The traffic roars by, unseen but definitely heard, and creates a nice white-noise effect. I feel like I'm the only person in the world out there.

As crazy as it sounds, it has become my holy place. My "new thing."

I've always been more of an outside pray-er than an inside one. Truth be told, I'm not a great pray-er, period. I can study the Bible for days on end, but prayer has been a harder spiritual discipline to cultivate in my life. There have been times, lots of them, actually, when I've felt strongly the presence of the Holy Spirit, when it seemed like the veil between me and the throne of God was more transparent. But for the most part, prayer is more a discipline for me than a joy. This has been my story for 46 years. And then we got the dog.

I don't know what it is. The going around in circles? The traffic noise? The privacy? The goofy joy I find in watching my spastic and frolicking puppy? A friend wondered if it's the containment, not only of the dog and me, but also of my mind. Unlike a neighborhood walk, there are no houses to look at. No other pets to avoid. No cars or people. It's just me, Oakley, a dirt track, and the unexpected presence of God.

He welcomes me in. I can almost feel His pleasure, like an eager host greeting his guest at the door: "Come in! I've been waiting for you!" He writes His words on my heart, and they come pouring out of my lips. Scripture comes readily to my mind and mixes with my words. I speak loudly; there's no one else around. I speak powerfully. The words are Spirit-led, not my own. My own are rambling, repetitive, uninspired, dull, distracted. These words catch me by surprise. They come with force and with conviction that they are pleasing to God, directed by Him. I know that He hears me. I know He always hears me, but this knowing goes beyond faith and belief. I actually feel Him hearing me. I keep walking, all those circles, 5 degrees outside, Oakley good and tired. And yet I can't help but make one more trip around the track.

When you've walked closely with Jesus for 20, 30, or 40 years, you might be tempted to stop looking for the "new thing." Please don't stop. Keep looking. Keep experimenting. If your prayer life seems dull, look for new places to pray. If you've lost interest in reading the Bible, try handwriting or typing it out. Listen to it online. Go to theversesproject.com and soak up scripture put to music and art.

Don't ever stop looking for the new thing God wants to give you.

2016 Book List

BOOKS I CAMPED OUT ON 

Impossible People: Christian Courage and the Struggle for the Soul of Civilization by Os Guinness. Weighty. Urgent. Relevant. This book stretched my brain power to its outer reaches, and as soon as I finished it, I knew I needed to read it again to try to absorb all I missed the first time. Guinness writes about the things we don’t want to think about, the big ideas and transformations in our world that will change life as we know it. Like the fact that the decline of the Judeo-Christian faith as the soul of the West has opened the door for two positions vying for control over the world’s thought: aggressive secularism and radical Islam. The consequences are vast. It’s much easier to keep our minds busy with daily schedules and a good fiction book, but sometimes we need to think bigger. This book is not to be missed—even if it is overwhelming.

American Girls: Social Media and the Secret Lives of Teenagers by Nancy Jo Sales. I blogged in detail about this book over the summer, and I’m still haunted by it. If you like to be informed about the state of our culture, and especially if you have children, I recommend you read at least the introduction. 

And also sounding the alarm on technology …

Nicholas Carr’s new book Utopia Is Creepy: And Other Provocations. There’s actually nothing new here; rather, this book is a collection of essays, blog posts, and book reviews since 2005. Carr had me at The Shallows, and I appreciate him as a writer, researcher, and social commentator. He shares my concern (abject terror?) over where technology is taking us and the effects it’s having on us, but he actually knows what he’s talking about. The last entry in this book, on biotechnology, sent chills down my spine. And here's a sample of Carr’s comments about Twitter: “What used to happen in the privacy of the mind is now tossed into the public’s bowl like so many Fritos. The broadcasting of the spectacle of self has become a full-time job.” Twitter is the medium of Narcissus, and Narcissism is the “user interface for Nihilism,” says Carr, allowing us to both “indulge our self-absorption and to distance ourselves from it by acknowledging, with a coy digital wink, its essential emptiness. I love me! Just kidding!” And it all masquerades as community. God, help us.

BOOKS BY SOME OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORS

The Pastor: A Memoir by Eugene Peterson. This book is aimed at two audiences: those who are (or want to be) pastors and those who savor Eugene Peterson like fine wine. I fall into the latter category. Having made my way through nearly all of C.S. Lewis’s works, I am now compelled to read at least one Eugene Peterson and one Tim Keller book each year.

Speaking of Keller, I read his book Counterfeit Gods this year. It was shorter than I expected, but contained a few gems, such as his discussion of four types of deep idols: power idolatry, approval idolatry, control idolatry, comfort idolatry. We can all recognize one of those in ourselves.

If You Can Keep It: The Forgotten Promise of American Liberty. Eric Metaxas is on his way to becoming one of my favorites. This book takes its name from a quote attributed to Benjamin Franklin. As the designers of the U.S. constitution walked out of their meeting in September 1787, a woman approached Franklin, then 81, and asked if the young country was really going to be a democracy. Franklin answered, “Yes, if you can keep it.” Metaxas uses this as his thesis: that liberty requires work. If we want to live in a free, democratic country, we all have to play a part in maintaining it. My crazy enthusiasm for the book waned as it became less about that principle and more about individual biographies, but it will still be required reading for the teenagers in my house.

I thought Brene Brown might become one of my new favorite authors, but after reading The Gift of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace You Are in January, I can’t remember a thing about it. Although I think back on it positively, I’ll need to read another of her books to determine if I’m a fan like other people are.

BOOKS THAT EXPANDED MY PERSPECTIVE

First, A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy by Sue Klebold. Couldn’t put this one down. Between the title and the author’s name, you can figure out what this book is about. Columbine hit me hard, both because it happened an hour from my house and because I was pregnant with my first child at the time. Throughout the years, the overriding thought in my head has been, “What was going on with those parents? How did they not know? How must this have affected them, and how do they live with the horror of it for the rest of their lives?” Sue Klebold answered all of my questions, and by the end of the book, she seemed more like a friend than an anomaly. I wanted to write to her, to tell her that despite all her efforts to redeem her tragedy—to make suicide-prevention her life’s mission, to give of herself ceaselessly to others—Jesus is the only answer to real, lasting peace. I may write to her yet.

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. How can two people see the same thing—the shooting of a black man by a while police officer, for example—and have two vastly different perspectives of what happened? That question prompted me to read this widely acclaimed book. Coates is as different from me as he can be. He’s a black man who grew up in inner-city Baltimore. He has no belief in God. He has experienced things I can barely imagine: His son being angrily pushed by a white woman in a crowd, routinely being pulled over by cops for no reason other than his skin color. What surprised me most is that this man is terrified every day, for himself and for his teenage son. Because they’re black. I was also caught off guard by the words he used for people like me: “people who need to believe they’re white” or “people who think they’re white.” Hmmm. The book felt overwritten and too poetic for my taste (he is, indeed, a poet), and there were times when I had no idea what he was talking about. But I got the gist of it, and it was eye-opening. A different perspective is good for me.

BIBLE COMMENTARY

I read a lot of commentaries for my work and my girls’ Bible studies, but will only recommend one here for casual reading. It’s Michael Card’s Luke: The Gospel of Amazement. Card has written about all of the gospels. If you’re looking for brief, easy-to-understand commentaries, his are a good choice.

ENJOYABLE FICTION

Where’d You Go Bernadette by Maria Semple. This is a quick read with a quirky plot and clever writing. I breezed through it and thoroughly enjoyed it.

FICTION I HATED

Forgiveness 4 You by Ann Bauer. The only reason I’m admitting I read it is so that you will avoid it. The premise, marketing and selling forgiveness to those who don’t have time or interest in church, was provocative enough to persevere through it, but in the end, it was sacrilegious drivel and a complete waste of time.

BOOKS I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO IN 2017

You Are What You Love; Hillbilly Elegy; Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus; The Beckoning; Just Do Something. Please send me your own recommendations, and keep reading! 

Dogs, Cones, and Momentary Affliction

Surely I'm not one of those people who gets a dog and immediately feels she must blog about it. I'd like to think I'm not that trite. But who am I kidding? I got a dog, and I'm going to write about him. I'm even going to spiritualize the situation. Please humor me.

Oakley is a Pudelpointer. (A hunting dog who doesn't shed; look it up!) He came to live with us four weeks ago, and I'm already smitten. Our Lab Zeke died six years ago, and it took every minute of that six years for us to muster the courage to get another dog. I loved Zeke with every fiber of my being, but he was a monster. One of my coworkers actually pulled me aside to ask "if everything was OK at home" when I came to work with multiple scrapes, scratches, and bruises. "I just got a puppy," I told him, and he seemed to understand.

But this trite blog is not about Zeke; it's about Oakley, the new pup in my life. After recently getting fixed, he was forced into the Cone of Shame. (Shout out to one of my favorite movies, UP, for giving us that clever name.) No surprise, Oakley was not a fan of the cone. He spent pretty much every waking moment resisting it. He clawed at it, rolled in the dirt with it, and mashed his head into the couch with it. He growled and barked at it. He made pathetic faces at those of us who had the power to get it off him. During one particularly pitiful moment, my husband noted the sad fact that Oakley had no idea this was only a temporary situation. To a puppy, this was now his new life, trapped forever by a torture device that kept him from licking his itches and otherwise thriving in this world.

The apostle Paul wrote about light and momentary afflictions. The troubles of this life feel neither light nor momentary. They feel restrictive, irritating, burdensome, and oh so permanent. We scrape and claw and roll in the dirt, trying to shake them. They keep us up at night. Somethings they keep us from eating. Even worse, they cause us to doubt the goodness of God, the one who could so easily "take it off."

As I watched Oakley resist and struggle, it was everything I could do not to take the cone off. Sometimes I had to leave the room, even though my heart was no less with him. But he needed the cone. It was for his own good, to help him heal. In order to thrive, he had to endure the affliction. And I knew that it was a relatively light affliction at that, one that would go away in a couple of days.

Some people are surprised to learn that Jesus flat out said that we're going to have troubles in this world (John 16:33). You don't hear a lot about that at evangelism crusades. We focus on the victories rather than the troubles, as well we should, but the fact is, we're still going to hurt. Surrendering your life to Christ in no way ensures that things are going to go your way or that you're always going to be happy. In fact, in some places, taking on the name "Christian" makes things a hundred times harder. But Jesus also said, "Take heart! I have overcome the world."

"Light" and "momentary" are relative terms. Oakley only had to wear the cone for five days, but your suffering might go on for years. It might even last your whole life. But in the context of eternal life, even that is momentary. I wonder if God ever looks at us rolling in the dirt with our affliction and thinks, "If only they knew it won't be like this forever"?

Oakley's a week out of his cone now, and I bet he doesn't even remember it. That'll be us some day. Our shame, our pain, our burdens, our afflictions--all forgotten because Jesus has overcome for our sake. Think of that the next time you see a dog in a cone.

An Unexpected Addition to My Thankful List

If I were to write up a list of all that I'm thankful for, it would stretch to Mexico City. And this year there's something new on the list. Band. Yep, that band: tuba players, flag twirlers, and funny plumed hats.

In fact, I would like to take back every ugly thing I ever said or thought about the band kids at my high school. I was wrong! I was immature and short-sighted! I couldn't get past the unflattering pants to see that band was one of the coolest things ever. The culture in my home didn't help. My dad was a football coach. Despite my mom's flute playing and my brother's dabbling in the trombone, my dad wore the pants in our family, and band pants they were not. I'm not sure anything irked him more than the quarterback running out on the field at halftime to play his trumpet. Football fields were for football games, and anything happening outside the 48 minutes of football play was irrelevant.

I'm sorry, band kids! Here's what I've learned about you in 2016.

Band kids work harder than just about anyone else. They run laps and bleachers. They stand for long minutes holding up their instruments to develop their arm muscles. They have six-hour practices in the blistering heat of summer, playing the same songs a hundred times a day. They learn an entirely new way to run, on their toes, while wearing shiny, patent-leather shoes.

Band kids know team work like no one else. They work together with the discipline and precision of a team of Navy seals. Attention to detail, focus, cooperation, pursuing excellence--all skills learned by band kids. And the amazing part is that no one's paying attention to that clarinet player in the fourth row. There is no spotlight on a marching band. No one's a star; no one's even noticed individually. They succeed or fail as a group. Band kids are selfless.

Band kids are a family. They take care of each other. There is no "JV" or "C Squad" band. Freshmen march right alongside seniors. My little freshman melophone player showed up at band camp a little overwhelmed and intimidated. Her section leader, a senior girl, noticed, cared, and became fast friends with my daughter. She sat with her on the five-hour bus ride to state, helped her with her homework, and made sure she had a group to sit with at dinner. Band kids eat together at lunch. They go out together after games. Band parties are a thing, and they're the kind of thing mothers feel good about. Band can provide a socially awkward kid with a sense of belonging and an introvert with a way to beautifully express herself.

I even have new respect for the band uniform. Yes, the bib overall thing is an odd choice, but I appreciate that the band uniform gets kids out of basketball shorts and into something classy, even regal.

I repent for harshly judging band kids. I regret my years of fast-forwarding through all the marching bands in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. My esteem for you is sky high, and if you've made it as far as Macy's on Thanksgiving, you deserve my full attention, even at the risk of burning my gravy. Tomorrow, I will watch and marvel.

Specks and planks

I  had every intention of keeping my mouth shut about the election. There are 300 million voices out there clamoring to be heard, and mine doesn't need to be among them. But as the protests continue, I take pause from my fierce tongue-biting to offer this thought.

This quote came from a protester yesterday: "We have to keep coming and making sure [Trump's] hatred and his fear and the anger that he's stirring up . . .  doesn't manifest itself in our country."

At the event in which this man spoke, people were hurling a bat at a Donald Trump pinata, knocking off his legs and bashing in his head. Children jumped in, squealing with delight as they pounded the effigy to smithereens. Others lit little Trumps on fire.

Does anyone else find this ironic?

No one has a monopoly on hate. Middle-aged, blue-collar white men can be hated and vilified every bit as much as a transgendered teenager. Definition of a bigot: a person who is intolerant toward those holding different opinions.

God, keep me always mindful of the plank in my own eye.

"How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" Matthew 7:4.