In studying John 16 the past few weeks, I've learned how gentle Jesus was in letting the disciples in on things. Our all-knowing God knows just how much His children can take at one time.
When I started walking with Him at the age of 10, and in earnest at about 19, He didn't just heap a bunch of conviction on me and tell me to deal with it. Gradually, year after year, He exposes new areas that need my attention, areas in which He wants to free me from sin and lead me into growth. Recently, He's brought an entirely new area to my mind, something I've never really thought about. It's corporate sin that requires corporate confession, and it all started with an article in Christianity Today.
I have never been to a protest. I'm generally not a fan of protesting, at least not the kind that involves angry signs and repetitive chants on city streets. As I've watched the Black Lives Matter marches, the removal of certain memorials, and the NFL-National Anthem debacle, I've felt more agitation at the protesters than affinity with their cries for justice. That's too bad, because God cares deeply about justice, and I want to care about what He cares about.
The article I read opened my eyes to a new perspective. Instead of organizing another protest, an organization led by Harvard grad and justice crusader Bryan Stevenson is creating a national memorial to remember the 4,000 African Americans who were lynched in this country between 1877 and the 1950s. In doing so, he is calling on the church in this country to acknowledge and repent, as a community, for the sins of slavery and racial cruelty in our nation's past. While this has happened within some denominations, Stevenson's goal is to extend the call to all individual followers of Christ.
In the past, this would not have registered with me, and I wouldn't have even finished the article. I'm a native Coloradan with no loyalty to the Confederacy and no complicity in either slavery or lynchings, both of which happened decades before my birth.But when the writer gave biblical precedent for caring about the sins of our ancestors, I tuned in.
Daniel confessed to sins that happened in another location in another generation. Nehemiah confessed the idolatry and oppression of his ancestors. Jesus told the Pharisees of His day that "this generation will be held responsible for the blood of all the prophets that has been shed since the beginning of the world" (Luke 11:50-51). Since the beginning of the world! That's a lot of accountability.
The idea of corporate ownership and confession of sins is also in line with 2 Chronicles 7:14, a verse that's screamed from the rooftops during political elections: "If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land."
As the church in this country takes corporate ownership for the sins in our history, "there is an element of personal transformation that goes deeper than the moral outrage of so many modern protests," says Bryan Stevenson. "It doesn't have the same self-righteous component to it." It's that self-righteous shaming that I rebel against when I see the protesters on TV. It makes me want to run instead of joining in and fighting the good fight in whatever ways I can.
Stevenson went on to say, "I am not interested in punishing America with this history. I want to liberate us. I want us to find the path that gets us to redemption."
Redemption. By my definition, it means God creating something beautiful out of our messes. It means that nothing is wasted; everything is used by Him. It's healing. It's forgiveness. It's making all things new. That's what our nation longs for. That's why people organize rallies and pick up signs. But true, lasting, healing redemption only comes through Jesus.
There is biblical precedent for corporate confession, and there is a burning need for healing in this land. Together these ideas are transforming my thoughts and my prayers. I've never personally owned a slave, but I'm part of a nation who thoughtlessly treated people as property. I'm part of a people who denied the dignity and humanity of all people and who sinned grievously against the God who created human beings in His image. That's my history. That's becoming part of my confession.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Saturday, September 23, 2017
Finding My Place in a Non-Place World
How much of my life am I living in non-places?
This term "non-places," created by French anthropologist Marc Auge nearly ten years ago, is new to me. Auge introduced the idea in his book on super modernity, describing them as transient spaces where we remain anonymous, spaces that don't hold enough significance to even be regarded as real "places." Writer Mark Sayers, in his recent book Strange Days: Life in the Spirit in a Time of Upheaval, latches onto the non-places idea, calling them spaces with no identity, no history, and no relationships. The term applies to actual physical locations, such as freeways, hotels, airports, and fast-food restaurants, as well as cyber spaces--everything from Amazon to hookup sites.
I'm realizing that I have to work harder and harder to choose places over non-places. As much as I desire to be known, that requires time, effort, and vulnerability, and usually it's just quicker and easier to do life in non-places that don't require so much of me.
I go to a megachurch, where I rarely see the same people from week to week, let alone sit by them or interact with them. No one knows when we're not there. We are anonymous, a family of six in a sea of faces, and my children have never known anything else.
We go to chain restaurants where the food is always the same but the staff is always different. A year ago we sat in one of these restaurants, six of us, mind you, in the dead center of the room, for at least a half hour with no acknowledgement from anyone--no greeting, no menu, no order taken, no eye contact. For a while it was an interesting social experiment (could we force someone to notice us, without saying a word?), but eventually we gave up and walked out.
I've taken to buying my groceries online. I love it and it's given me hours of my life back, but at what cost? As much as I hated walking its aisles week after week, I had history with Walmart. Addison pushed me through the store when my ankle was injured, making me laugh so hard I could barely see straight. It was the place where I made up stories and songs to entertain my little kids as we waited in a long line on a Friday afternoon. I made chit-chat with the same checkers, week after week. I used to bump into friends and acquaintances and occasionally have meaningful conversation in the mayonnaise aisle. Now I add items to my cart on a computer screen. Much of my other shopping is done the same way, in non-places, so convenient, yet so impersonal. I'm not about to give these up, but they make me work harder to use that saved time well.
I work from home. I email and text my friends, my mom, my husband, my children. I spend hours in the car, often by myself, driving in circles alongside strangers doing the same thing. I have to be intentional to seek out real places with real people. It takes effort, but I'm always so thankful for how it pays off.
There are times, many times, when anonymity and efficiency are the best choice, but they can't be all there is. I want to choose places where I have history (like the place at my church where I've spent Wednesday nights at Awana for the past eleven years), relationships (going out on dates with my husband, spending one-on-one time with my kids, taking walks with friends), and identity (not the kind that can be stolen in an Equifax hack, but the kind that is grounded in the truth of who God made me to be). I want my kids to choose real places over non-places, to consider that as they look for colleges. I hope we will all do the hard work of being known, being real, and creating authentic places where we can welcome others in.
This term "non-places," created by French anthropologist Marc Auge nearly ten years ago, is new to me. Auge introduced the idea in his book on super modernity, describing them as transient spaces where we remain anonymous, spaces that don't hold enough significance to even be regarded as real "places." Writer Mark Sayers, in his recent book Strange Days: Life in the Spirit in a Time of Upheaval, latches onto the non-places idea, calling them spaces with no identity, no history, and no relationships. The term applies to actual physical locations, such as freeways, hotels, airports, and fast-food restaurants, as well as cyber spaces--everything from Amazon to hookup sites.
I'm realizing that I have to work harder and harder to choose places over non-places. As much as I desire to be known, that requires time, effort, and vulnerability, and usually it's just quicker and easier to do life in non-places that don't require so much of me.
I go to a megachurch, where I rarely see the same people from week to week, let alone sit by them or interact with them. No one knows when we're not there. We are anonymous, a family of six in a sea of faces, and my children have never known anything else.
We go to chain restaurants where the food is always the same but the staff is always different. A year ago we sat in one of these restaurants, six of us, mind you, in the dead center of the room, for at least a half hour with no acknowledgement from anyone--no greeting, no menu, no order taken, no eye contact. For a while it was an interesting social experiment (could we force someone to notice us, without saying a word?), but eventually we gave up and walked out.
I've taken to buying my groceries online. I love it and it's given me hours of my life back, but at what cost? As much as I hated walking its aisles week after week, I had history with Walmart. Addison pushed me through the store when my ankle was injured, making me laugh so hard I could barely see straight. It was the place where I made up stories and songs to entertain my little kids as we waited in a long line on a Friday afternoon. I made chit-chat with the same checkers, week after week. I used to bump into friends and acquaintances and occasionally have meaningful conversation in the mayonnaise aisle. Now I add items to my cart on a computer screen. Much of my other shopping is done the same way, in non-places, so convenient, yet so impersonal. I'm not about to give these up, but they make me work harder to use that saved time well.
I work from home. I email and text my friends, my mom, my husband, my children. I spend hours in the car, often by myself, driving in circles alongside strangers doing the same thing. I have to be intentional to seek out real places with real people. It takes effort, but I'm always so thankful for how it pays off.
There are times, many times, when anonymity and efficiency are the best choice, but they can't be all there is. I want to choose places where I have history (like the place at my church where I've spent Wednesday nights at Awana for the past eleven years), relationships (going out on dates with my husband, spending one-on-one time with my kids, taking walks with friends), and identity (not the kind that can be stolen in an Equifax hack, but the kind that is grounded in the truth of who God made me to be). I want my kids to choose real places over non-places, to consider that as they look for colleges. I hope we will all do the hard work of being known, being real, and creating authentic places where we can welcome others in.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
We're Not in 2005 Anymore
About 14 minutes ago, or what seems like it, I dropped my son off for his first day of kindergarten. Today, his car loaded with sisters, he drove off for the first day of his senior year. Wow, that was fast.
But then I think about how much has changed since that day in 2005, and I realize what a long time ago it was. I did not whip out a cell phone and take a picture of Braden on his first day of kindergarten. I did not text or vox any of my friends. It did not occur to me to pray against teen suicide in our community. I doubt "cyberbullying" was even a word.
While there have been some positive changes since Braden started kindergarten, it also feels like the world is a darker place. I believe it is an especially hard time to be a teenager, and an especially challenging time to be a teacher or school administrator. There's been a story in the news lately that drives this point home and reminds me that parents today need to be more "on it" and more intentional than ever.
In June, a sixth grader from New Jersey took her own life. Sadly, that story alone is so familiar that it would not make headlines. The news here is that this girl's parents have charged her school with negligence and are demanding that administrators be held accountable for their daughter's death. Like dozens of other grieving parents who have made similar charges against their children's schools, these parents say that for months, their daughter received menacing messages via social media, with other sixth graders telling her that no one liked her, that she had no friends, and that she should just kill herself. They say they complained to the school, but the bullying continued, until it got so bad their daughter ended her life.
While my heart aches for anyone who loses a child, I've got to ask the obvious questions. Who was responsible for the safety of this little girl? In their demands for accountability, have these parents ever considered their own negligence? Their own lawyer, in one of many nationally televised interviews, held up a cell phone and said, "This small device can be a lethal weapon in the hands of the wrong child." And yet they put it into their daughter's hands at such a young age, and they loaded it with Instagram and Snapchat. When they saw the trauma it was causing, did they ever think to take it away? Is that option considered too outlandish by today's parents to even consider?
What have we done to our children? Billionaires sit in offices creating poison for our young children, advertisers shove it down our throats, peer pressure demands that we bring it into our own homes, and parents, assuming they have no other choice, toss it at their kids and leave the room.
The world has changed drastically in the past 12 years, and we parents have got to do a better job being the adults and protecting not only our children's bodies, but their hearts and minds, too. We can't expect schools to clean up the messes created by poor parenting decisions. Schools exist to educate our children, not to police their online behavior. Parents are responsible for their own children. How can this be revolutionary or controversial?
Are there students using social media successfully, unscathed by its potentially lethal effects? For sure. But I would bet good money that very few of them are in the sixth grade. And yet the age at which kids receive their first phones is getting younger and younger, and where there is a phone, the apps are sure to follow.
As we start this new school year, let's be intentional with our own kids. Let's be very slow to say "yes" to new technology, especially with our young kids, let's exercise our parental rights to check their phones and see what's happening in their online worlds, and let's not be afraid to pull the plug on anything that has become harmful to them. Let's show our gratitude to our children's teachers and principals, and for heaven's sake, let's be down on our knees praying for them.
But then I think about how much has changed since that day in 2005, and I realize what a long time ago it was. I did not whip out a cell phone and take a picture of Braden on his first day of kindergarten. I did not text or vox any of my friends. It did not occur to me to pray against teen suicide in our community. I doubt "cyberbullying" was even a word.
While there have been some positive changes since Braden started kindergarten, it also feels like the world is a darker place. I believe it is an especially hard time to be a teenager, and an especially challenging time to be a teacher or school administrator. There's been a story in the news lately that drives this point home and reminds me that parents today need to be more "on it" and more intentional than ever.
In June, a sixth grader from New Jersey took her own life. Sadly, that story alone is so familiar that it would not make headlines. The news here is that this girl's parents have charged her school with negligence and are demanding that administrators be held accountable for their daughter's death. Like dozens of other grieving parents who have made similar charges against their children's schools, these parents say that for months, their daughter received menacing messages via social media, with other sixth graders telling her that no one liked her, that she had no friends, and that she should just kill herself. They say they complained to the school, but the bullying continued, until it got so bad their daughter ended her life.
While my heart aches for anyone who loses a child, I've got to ask the obvious questions. Who was responsible for the safety of this little girl? In their demands for accountability, have these parents ever considered their own negligence? Their own lawyer, in one of many nationally televised interviews, held up a cell phone and said, "This small device can be a lethal weapon in the hands of the wrong child." And yet they put it into their daughter's hands at such a young age, and they loaded it with Instagram and Snapchat. When they saw the trauma it was causing, did they ever think to take it away? Is that option considered too outlandish by today's parents to even consider?
What have we done to our children? Billionaires sit in offices creating poison for our young children, advertisers shove it down our throats, peer pressure demands that we bring it into our own homes, and parents, assuming they have no other choice, toss it at their kids and leave the room.
The world has changed drastically in the past 12 years, and we parents have got to do a better job being the adults and protecting not only our children's bodies, but their hearts and minds, too. We can't expect schools to clean up the messes created by poor parenting decisions. Schools exist to educate our children, not to police their online behavior. Parents are responsible for their own children. How can this be revolutionary or controversial?
Are there students using social media successfully, unscathed by its potentially lethal effects? For sure. But I would bet good money that very few of them are in the sixth grade. And yet the age at which kids receive their first phones is getting younger and younger, and where there is a phone, the apps are sure to follow.
As we start this new school year, let's be intentional with our own kids. Let's be very slow to say "yes" to new technology, especially with our young kids, let's exercise our parental rights to check their phones and see what's happening in their online worlds, and let's not be afraid to pull the plug on anything that has become harmful to them. Let's show our gratitude to our children's teachers and principals, and for heaven's sake, let's be down on our knees praying for them.
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Practice in Letting Go
My son is at my dream camp right now. He's only thirty minutes away from our house, but he's a universe away in terms of what he's thinking and talking about for the next two weeks. The name of the camp is Summit Ministries, but it might as well be called Worldview Camp. By the end of it, he'll have heard from experts across the country on Islam, Marxism, philosophy, politics, poverty, economics, ethics, bioethics, free speech, and how the Bible speaks into these and a multitude of other things.
This is the air that I breathe. These are the books that I read and the topics I am most passionate about. I couldn't have cared less when I was 17, but today? I'd seriously consider giving my left arm to be there if I weren't thirty years older than everyone else.
In the five days since Braden has been gone, I've made a significant discovery about myself. I've been doing this mom thing for 18 years, and I would have said I've never been a helicopter parent. I have never been uptight about my kids' physical safety. You wanna climb a 60-foot tree? Go for it! Walk to the park by yourself? Sure. I can trust God with physical safety, no problem. I can even trust Him with my kids' failures and disappointments. Though they're never fun, I see these as opportunities and try not to interfere when they come along.
But my children's young minds? That's where I've staked my claim. If I'm a helicopter parent at all, it's with their minds. As they're learning about and processing the world, I want to be there doing it with them. I want to ask questions, make connections, and challenge their ideas. I want to share my own stories and thoughts while trying to draw out theirs. And let's be honest, I want to steer their thinking, to urge them to think like me.
So it's challenging for me that Braden is having this Big Mind Experience, but he's not coming home every night to talk about it with me. He's taking it in and processing it with a room full of strangers. Obviously, they're strangers I trust, or we wouldn't have ponied up the big bucks to send him to Summit, but still, they're strangers nonetheless. I get a text here and there, but there's no space for stimulating discussion. That's happening apart from me, and I'll get only the remnants of what he's thinking about today when he comes home eight days from now.
My toes are dangling in foreign waters. It's called Letting Go. In 13 months, I'll be fully immersed. These are good waters, I know, not something to dread. They are healthy waters, a place in which my children and I will all grow and, I hope, will thrive. I believe in the goodness and rightness of these waters enough that I will encourage (push?) all of my children to go far away after high school, to become their own people apart from me, to think their own thoughts without my constant interruption, to explore the world on their own. My mother did this for me, and it was one of the greatest gifts of my life, so I will pay it forward. God, help me. This will require extraordinary faith, faith that I can't quite muster today.
I'm getting there, though. Slowly but surely, God is prying my tight grip off of my children. In the process, He is inviting me to a whole new level of relationship with Him. Scary as it is, I accept. And I welcome the advice and encouragement of those of you who have gone before me.
This is the air that I breathe. These are the books that I read and the topics I am most passionate about. I couldn't have cared less when I was 17, but today? I'd seriously consider giving my left arm to be there if I weren't thirty years older than everyone else.
In the five days since Braden has been gone, I've made a significant discovery about myself. I've been doing this mom thing for 18 years, and I would have said I've never been a helicopter parent. I have never been uptight about my kids' physical safety. You wanna climb a 60-foot tree? Go for it! Walk to the park by yourself? Sure. I can trust God with physical safety, no problem. I can even trust Him with my kids' failures and disappointments. Though they're never fun, I see these as opportunities and try not to interfere when they come along.
But my children's young minds? That's where I've staked my claim. If I'm a helicopter parent at all, it's with their minds. As they're learning about and processing the world, I want to be there doing it with them. I want to ask questions, make connections, and challenge their ideas. I want to share my own stories and thoughts while trying to draw out theirs. And let's be honest, I want to steer their thinking, to urge them to think like me.
So it's challenging for me that Braden is having this Big Mind Experience, but he's not coming home every night to talk about it with me. He's taking it in and processing it with a room full of strangers. Obviously, they're strangers I trust, or we wouldn't have ponied up the big bucks to send him to Summit, but still, they're strangers nonetheless. I get a text here and there, but there's no space for stimulating discussion. That's happening apart from me, and I'll get only the remnants of what he's thinking about today when he comes home eight days from now.
My toes are dangling in foreign waters. It's called Letting Go. In 13 months, I'll be fully immersed. These are good waters, I know, not something to dread. They are healthy waters, a place in which my children and I will all grow and, I hope, will thrive. I believe in the goodness and rightness of these waters enough that I will encourage (push?) all of my children to go far away after high school, to become their own people apart from me, to think their own thoughts without my constant interruption, to explore the world on their own. My mother did this for me, and it was one of the greatest gifts of my life, so I will pay it forward. God, help me. This will require extraordinary faith, faith that I can't quite muster today.
I'm getting there, though. Slowly but surely, God is prying my tight grip off of my children. In the process, He is inviting me to a whole new level of relationship with Him. Scary as it is, I accept. And I welcome the advice and encouragement of those of you who have gone before me.
Saturday, July 1, 2017
In the News
Last night my family and I were watching the evening news as we regularly do. One report came from Akron, Ohio, where opioid overdoses have reached crisis proportions. We learned that at one of Akron's addiction-treatment facilities, patients receive monthly injections of Vivitrol, a drug that may be helpful in getting addicts off drugs. One injection of Vivitrol costs $1,200 and lasts four weeks. Then the reporter told us that this facility treats 2,500 opioid patients monthly, all with Vivitrol and presumably a host of other services. The treatment is free to the patients, because they are all on Medicaid.
My 15-year-old, smart cookie that she is, flagged me to hit "pause." (Like the rest of America, we don't watch anything live. And the pause button is especially handy for family conversations about the evening news.) "Nothing's free. Who's paying for all those shots?" she asked, knowing full well the answer. My son got a calculator. $1,200 per shot for 2,500 people. That's monthly, so multiply by 12. Medicaid pays for $36,000,000 worth of Vivitrol a year at one facility in one town in one state. Thirty-six million dollars for a drug that has a questionable rate of effectiveness. From what I read online, after six months, close to 50 percent of Vivitrol users (not necessarily at this facility, but in general) have returned to opiod use.
The angle of the story was that all these people, 2,500 of them, would not be able to receive this treatment if changes are made to Medicaid, as is proposed under the Republican's new health care plan. One of the residents at the facility said that if the plan goes through, Congress will have a lot of innocent blood on their hands. Just to make this point clearer, the report ended with a shot of a mobile morgue, a big white truck used to haul off the bodies of all those who have died from their addiction. If we were hoping for the reporter to acknowledge what a huge amount of money that was, to give us some statistics about the program's success, or to remind viewers that the national debt is now $19,846,080,045,627, we were disappointed. None of that came up. Just the mobile morgue and the threat of "innocent blood."
Back to my daughter and her question. In a few months, she'll be 16, and she's eager to get a job. So the answer is, "In a few months, Addison, you'll be paying for those shots." So will my elderly friend who worked hard his whole life to "pay into the system" so that Medicaid would be there for him, unaware that the system would be faltering partially due to a drain from drug addicts in the prime of their lives. It will be paid for by the families I know who carefully, strategically live on one income so that mom can give focused attention to their kids, praying they won't get sick or injured because their crappy, overpriced insurance covers next to nothing. It will be paid for by the families who have to choose between covering the mortgage payment or filling their kids' cavities. It will also be paid for by the LeBron Jameses and the Beyonces and the Bill Gateses, but there aren't very many of them.
I rarely step into political waters on this blog. But I feel the tension of this issue, and I feel it even more when my kids start to wrestle with it. When I think of the debt they are inheriting.
I am not at all unsympathetic to the addicted. I don't believe they intentionally chose this path for their lives or that they should be kicked to the curb to figure out a solution for themselves. They are hurting people who were most likely raised by other hurting people. Most of them do not have the advantages my children have: married parents who love them unconditionally, a consistent roof over their heads, a good education, reliability, stability, and on and on. I get that. I care about that, and I care about justice and mercy. My point is not to question the ethics of caring for the addicted, but to question the methods and sustainability of it.
Our world is not getting any nicer or easier. I wonder if the number of wounded-beyond-functioning people will some day out number those who can support them? I wonder about the inconsistencies of throwing billions of federal dollars at a drug-addiction crisis while legalizing marijuana all across the country. I wonder about treating drugs with other drugs, especially those that cost $1,200 a shot and have a 50 percent chance of working. I wonder how a country that's growing more secular by the day will realize that the problem is not drug addiction but hopelessness, and that Jesus is the only solution.
Just another night watching the evening news and trying to help my kids make sense of the world. God, give us wisdom.
My 15-year-old, smart cookie that she is, flagged me to hit "pause." (Like the rest of America, we don't watch anything live. And the pause button is especially handy for family conversations about the evening news.) "Nothing's free. Who's paying for all those shots?" she asked, knowing full well the answer. My son got a calculator. $1,200 per shot for 2,500 people. That's monthly, so multiply by 12. Medicaid pays for $36,000,000 worth of Vivitrol a year at one facility in one town in one state. Thirty-six million dollars for a drug that has a questionable rate of effectiveness. From what I read online, after six months, close to 50 percent of Vivitrol users (not necessarily at this facility, but in general) have returned to opiod use.
The angle of the story was that all these people, 2,500 of them, would not be able to receive this treatment if changes are made to Medicaid, as is proposed under the Republican's new health care plan. One of the residents at the facility said that if the plan goes through, Congress will have a lot of innocent blood on their hands. Just to make this point clearer, the report ended with a shot of a mobile morgue, a big white truck used to haul off the bodies of all those who have died from their addiction. If we were hoping for the reporter to acknowledge what a huge amount of money that was, to give us some statistics about the program's success, or to remind viewers that the national debt is now $19,846,080,045,627, we were disappointed. None of that came up. Just the mobile morgue and the threat of "innocent blood."
Back to my daughter and her question. In a few months, she'll be 16, and she's eager to get a job. So the answer is, "In a few months, Addison, you'll be paying for those shots." So will my elderly friend who worked hard his whole life to "pay into the system" so that Medicaid would be there for him, unaware that the system would be faltering partially due to a drain from drug addicts in the prime of their lives. It will be paid for by the families I know who carefully, strategically live on one income so that mom can give focused attention to their kids, praying they won't get sick or injured because their crappy, overpriced insurance covers next to nothing. It will be paid for by the families who have to choose between covering the mortgage payment or filling their kids' cavities. It will also be paid for by the LeBron Jameses and the Beyonces and the Bill Gateses, but there aren't very many of them.
I rarely step into political waters on this blog. But I feel the tension of this issue, and I feel it even more when my kids start to wrestle with it. When I think of the debt they are inheriting.
I am not at all unsympathetic to the addicted. I don't believe they intentionally chose this path for their lives or that they should be kicked to the curb to figure out a solution for themselves. They are hurting people who were most likely raised by other hurting people. Most of them do not have the advantages my children have: married parents who love them unconditionally, a consistent roof over their heads, a good education, reliability, stability, and on and on. I get that. I care about that, and I care about justice and mercy. My point is not to question the ethics of caring for the addicted, but to question the methods and sustainability of it.
Our world is not getting any nicer or easier. I wonder if the number of wounded-beyond-functioning people will some day out number those who can support them? I wonder about the inconsistencies of throwing billions of federal dollars at a drug-addiction crisis while legalizing marijuana all across the country. I wonder about treating drugs with other drugs, especially those that cost $1,200 a shot and have a 50 percent chance of working. I wonder how a country that's growing more secular by the day will realize that the problem is not drug addiction but hopelessness, and that Jesus is the only solution.
Just another night watching the evening news and trying to help my kids make sense of the world. God, give us wisdom.
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Too Much Information
A few years ago, I attempted to write down every bite of food I took in a day. I then swapped this food journal with a friend, hoping that it would serve as a good motivator of self-control. It's one thing for my kids to see me eat a jar of marshmallow cream, but quite another to let my health-conscious friend in on it. If nothing else, it tested my ethical boundaries, though I'm not sure it worked as a diet method. After some weeks we gave up, and I started eating Froot Loops again.
I also have a Fitbit, which is supposed to record the number of steps I take each day. In actuality, it records how much my wrist moves, which is not really all that helpful. An hour on the stairstepper at the gym gets me zero "steps," while shuffling papers at my dining room table can get me a thousand. Still, it's enough to send me marching through the house with my toothbrush in my mouth if I've only gotten 9,200 steps at bedtime.
There is some draw in evaluating our lives through recorded data. And where there's a draw, there's an opportunist. I have recently stumbled upon the entire "quantitative self movement." QS, also known as self-tracking or life-logging, started around 2007 with Fitbits, calorie counters, and sleep monitors. It has since exploded into a whole new lifestyle of statistically evaluating every aspect of one's life. There are people recording the number of hours they spend online and people taking inventory of every piece of clothing they own. This year's "QS17" conference will feature a woman who records every scar on her body--when she got it, how she got it, and how it's a meaningful part of her story.
Some people record their moods on the hour, including what makes them happy and what gets them upset. I read about a woman going through a divorce who documented every time she cried, every time she felt angry, every time she visited an online dating site. For those who really want to self-analyze, there are an abundance of online journaling sites. You churn out the words, the website provides you with all sorts of data: you're more uptight than other subscribers, you're more depressed than last week. One woman found out she thinks about death more than "normal" people. I'm sure that cheered her up.
I wonder, is the quantitative self for those who are interested in living better, or is it for those who are interested in living less? Your world becomes pretty small if you can count and measure everything in it. This also seems like one more way, along with tweets and selfies, that our modern world is pulling us into narcissism. It's hard to care about the hurts of others around you when you're obsessed with your own scars. Maybe we could all use a little less self-focus and a little more outward focus.
When the psalmist asked the Lord to "teach us to number our days" (Psalm 90:12), he wasn't talking about a scientific dissection of how we spend our minutes and hours. He was calling people to live with purpose. The end goal was to "gain a heart of wisdom." More and more, we live in a world where information is king, but give me wisdom over information any day. Knowing my resting heart rate? I can do without that. Pursuing the One who keeps it beating? Priceless.
I also have a Fitbit, which is supposed to record the number of steps I take each day. In actuality, it records how much my wrist moves, which is not really all that helpful. An hour on the stairstepper at the gym gets me zero "steps," while shuffling papers at my dining room table can get me a thousand. Still, it's enough to send me marching through the house with my toothbrush in my mouth if I've only gotten 9,200 steps at bedtime.
There is some draw in evaluating our lives through recorded data. And where there's a draw, there's an opportunist. I have recently stumbled upon the entire "quantitative self movement." QS, also known as self-tracking or life-logging, started around 2007 with Fitbits, calorie counters, and sleep monitors. It has since exploded into a whole new lifestyle of statistically evaluating every aspect of one's life. There are people recording the number of hours they spend online and people taking inventory of every piece of clothing they own. This year's "QS17" conference will feature a woman who records every scar on her body--when she got it, how she got it, and how it's a meaningful part of her story.
Some people record their moods on the hour, including what makes them happy and what gets them upset. I read about a woman going through a divorce who documented every time she cried, every time she felt angry, every time she visited an online dating site. For those who really want to self-analyze, there are an abundance of online journaling sites. You churn out the words, the website provides you with all sorts of data: you're more uptight than other subscribers, you're more depressed than last week. One woman found out she thinks about death more than "normal" people. I'm sure that cheered her up.
I wonder, is the quantitative self for those who are interested in living better, or is it for those who are interested in living less? Your world becomes pretty small if you can count and measure everything in it. This also seems like one more way, along with tweets and selfies, that our modern world is pulling us into narcissism. It's hard to care about the hurts of others around you when you're obsessed with your own scars. Maybe we could all use a little less self-focus and a little more outward focus.
When the psalmist asked the Lord to "teach us to number our days" (Psalm 90:12), he wasn't talking about a scientific dissection of how we spend our minutes and hours. He was calling people to live with purpose. The end goal was to "gain a heart of wisdom." More and more, we live in a world where information is king, but give me wisdom over information any day. Knowing my resting heart rate? I can do without that. Pursuing the One who keeps it beating? Priceless.
Friday, June 2, 2017
I Don't Get It: A First Installment of What May Become Semi-Regular
Note: There's a lot that I don't get. So much so that I'm going to write about it periodically under the heading "I Don't Get It." I've been in this world quite a long time, and there is still so much I'm trying to make sense of. I'm not trying to be sarcastic or funny; I'm genuinely trying to understand. I welcome your responses, public or private.
The NBA Championship kicked off last night, somewhat overshadowed by the news that LeBron James's house had been spraypainted with the "n" word. James responded by saying, "No matter how much money you have, no matter how famous you are, no matter how many people admire you, being black in America is tough."
Although I would argue that just living in this fallen world is tough, his statement is helpful and thought-provoking for a white, middle-class mom who's never faced a day of racism in her life. But here's what I don't get: Why is this word that is so clearly offensive used so extensively among the people it offends?
Last weekend, I was at a park in Toledo, Ohio, with my two younger daughters. While my family celebrated my nephew's graduation, a group of young black men played basketball as their music blared. In twenty minutes, we heard the "n" word hundreds of times. We heard about "raping bitches" over and over again. Though the day was beautiful and the basketball fun to watch, we could only stomach so much of it before we had to leave.
So what are we to teach out kids? First, the rule for whites: Common sense and sensitivity say we never use the "n" word. Paula Dean and countless others have learned this the hard way. I hope I've taught my kids that labels in general, and derogatory ones in particular, are not a loving way to treat people. This word should not be in our vocabulary. In fact, it should feel distasteful in our mouths. Last summer, when we read New Boy, a Civil Rights-era book, aloud together, I stumbled hard over the "n" word. I should stumble. My kids should stumble, even when they see it in good literature. This I get. But from there it gets much trickier.
From what I read online, even though the word is a staple of rap music, it is not to be used by white rappers. There was some debate over whether or not Asian rappers could use it. Because Asians, as far as we know, never kept black slaves, it might be OK for them to use it. For younger blacks--rapper or otherwise--it's perfectly acceptable. In fact, they encourage its use, seeing it as a sign of power and liberation to freely throw around a word laced with such historical oppression. I read that it has become a term of endearment "in a defiant, yet fitting, cultural appropriation of a term meant to hurt" African Americans. One young man promised that in a decade, we'll see it appear on children's spelling lists. Older generations of black men and women heartily disagree and believe the word should never be used by anyone.
(I didn't find any discussion on the pros and cons of the term "raping bitches," but maybe I'm not looking hard enough.)
So is this what I'm supposed to teach my kids when I'm at parks in Toledo and at stoplights in Colorado Springs and we hear a word that's supposedly forbidden, for good reason, drilled into our heads twenty times in a minute? This whole line about how it's never OK for us, but that it's somehow empowering for those it offends? That's what I don't get.
When we pull back the lens from this one word and look at the bigger picture, it becomes clearer. Racism is real. It affects the rich, the famous, and even the heroes of our culture. Hate and selfishness leave their ugly mark on all of us, but some get it a lot worse than others. No matter where we come from or how we're different, we have a common enemy who uses hate to divide and destroy us and to distract us from the One who gives love and peace and reconciliation. That I understand, and it's a crying shame.
The NBA Championship kicked off last night, somewhat overshadowed by the news that LeBron James's house had been spraypainted with the "n" word. James responded by saying, "No matter how much money you have, no matter how famous you are, no matter how many people admire you, being black in America is tough."
Although I would argue that just living in this fallen world is tough, his statement is helpful and thought-provoking for a white, middle-class mom who's never faced a day of racism in her life. But here's what I don't get: Why is this word that is so clearly offensive used so extensively among the people it offends?
Last weekend, I was at a park in Toledo, Ohio, with my two younger daughters. While my family celebrated my nephew's graduation, a group of young black men played basketball as their music blared. In twenty minutes, we heard the "n" word hundreds of times. We heard about "raping bitches" over and over again. Though the day was beautiful and the basketball fun to watch, we could only stomach so much of it before we had to leave.
So what are we to teach out kids? First, the rule for whites: Common sense and sensitivity say we never use the "n" word. Paula Dean and countless others have learned this the hard way. I hope I've taught my kids that labels in general, and derogatory ones in particular, are not a loving way to treat people. This word should not be in our vocabulary. In fact, it should feel distasteful in our mouths. Last summer, when we read New Boy, a Civil Rights-era book, aloud together, I stumbled hard over the "n" word. I should stumble. My kids should stumble, even when they see it in good literature. This I get. But from there it gets much trickier.
From what I read online, even though the word is a staple of rap music, it is not to be used by white rappers. There was some debate over whether or not Asian rappers could use it. Because Asians, as far as we know, never kept black slaves, it might be OK for them to use it. For younger blacks--rapper or otherwise--it's perfectly acceptable. In fact, they encourage its use, seeing it as a sign of power and liberation to freely throw around a word laced with such historical oppression. I read that it has become a term of endearment "in a defiant, yet fitting, cultural appropriation of a term meant to hurt" African Americans. One young man promised that in a decade, we'll see it appear on children's spelling lists. Older generations of black men and women heartily disagree and believe the word should never be used by anyone.
(I didn't find any discussion on the pros and cons of the term "raping bitches," but maybe I'm not looking hard enough.)
So is this what I'm supposed to teach my kids when I'm at parks in Toledo and at stoplights in Colorado Springs and we hear a word that's supposedly forbidden, for good reason, drilled into our heads twenty times in a minute? This whole line about how it's never OK for us, but that it's somehow empowering for those it offends? That's what I don't get.
When we pull back the lens from this one word and look at the bigger picture, it becomes clearer. Racism is real. It affects the rich, the famous, and even the heroes of our culture. Hate and selfishness leave their ugly mark on all of us, but some get it a lot worse than others. No matter where we come from or how we're different, we have a common enemy who uses hate to divide and destroy us and to distract us from the One who gives love and peace and reconciliation. That I understand, and it's a crying shame.
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