So this is supposed to be a collection of my most used words from my blog…really? Dad? Screw? Flying? Cream? Alex? Really, do I talk about Alex a lot? I don’t even know an Alex! Either way and regardless of whether its accurate or not it was kind of fun to see at least a partial collection of what spews forth from my mind. (if you click on the image it will get bigger)
I wonder what kind of word collection would show up if your brain was picked?!
What is it about flying cars? It seems like since the beginning of time our dreams of the future (of the ‘year 2000’) included flying cars. And yet here we are driving on the ground and flying in planes. I guess our sci fi movies wouldn’t have been as cool had they dreamed of a future where information could be shared wirelessly, where you could spend money you didn’t have if you just swiped a piece of plastic, and where Starbucks ruled the world.
Here are some of my predictions of the future in no particular order:
One of my last blog posts was a retelling of Jesus’ story that is traditionally referred to as the Prodigal Son. Its a beautiful and at times offensive story about radical love (radical love is almost always offensive to those who are living out of intense anger, greed, or pride isn’t it?). I’ve told and retold Jesus’ story over the years and have always owned it as my own story–a story that speaks into my own life. In fact, when I read the short story that comprised my previous blog post I concluded it by talking about how her story is our story, how her story is my story. But I’m not so sure that’s true! I’m questioning this reality, is her story really my story? Am I really the prodigal son who flipped his father off, ran away from home, experienced the world, lost everything, and came back groveling only to discover radical love and acceptance?
In that story there are two sons. There’s the younger son (whose story I retold as the wandering daughter) and there’s the older son. The older son didn’t leave home, he stayed faithful to his dad, he worked the land, was responsible, and in the end was pissed that justice was not served to his younger brother as he thought it should. The younger son’s story is better, it makes a better movie, it tugs at our heart and captures our emotions in ways that the boring older son never will. But the older brother feels much more familiar to me! Both brothers create a backdrop for an experience of intense love–both brothers are a framework for showing the fathers graciousness. But only one brother accepted the love of the father. The older brother missed out on the radical love of his dad because he was too busy working, he was too busy getting things right.
Which brother’s story do I need to own? Which brother’s story do most Christians need to own? It’s the older brother right?! Christians spend a lot of time trying to get things right, most of us have spent our whole lives trying to do the right thing…to what end? I always joke that when there’s a neighbor on my street who’s always gone and who’s not present at any neighborhood events he must be a pastor. Like the older brother we Christians can find ourselves too busy mowing the churches grass, at committee meetings deciding which curriculum to use for children’s class, and sitting in pews listening to pontificators to be with people outside our church building walls. We miss the party because we’re too busy working.
Let me add another wrench in the mix. The father split his land between his kids which means that when the younger son returned he was actually returning to his older brothers inheritance. Not only did the younger brother screw everything up but he was also now imposing on the older brothers inheritance. How dare he! Similarly, however, we also spend lots of time trying to make others do the right thing. We have bought into the lie that responsibility produces life, love, and satisfying relationship. It doesn’t. I spent many years trying to have the right doctrine and trying to be perfect; but in the end I realized that there was a party happening and I was missing out on it! There was a party happening with lots of people whose lives were messy (prodigal-like) and they were experiencing radical and intense love in ways that I had never imagined because I was too busy trying to please my Father that I never paused to feast with him. We Christians* need to learn from the younger son’s story but we need to own the older brother’s. We’ve got to stop being indignant when people fall madly in love with Jesus and yet don’t live the way we think they should. We’ve got to stop being self-righteous and realize that while we may say it with our lips our actions still show that we think we’ll find hope through being really ridiculously good. And we’ve got to loosen up and be willing to party a little bit more…I mean, don’t forget that Jesus’ coming out was over an amazing bottle of wine and a party filled with drunk people.
* When I refer to “we Christians” I’m specifically referring to those of us who have grown up in the church. My hope is that our churches will cease to be filled only with those who grew up doing the song and dance and will instead be filled with those who haven’t spent their whole lives living in the mirage of responsibility. My hope is that churches will be overrun one day with those whose imaginations are wide, whose experiences are broad, and whose love of Jesus is authentically fresh.
Well I keep typing and erasing and typing and erasing and just don’t have much to say right now (aside from everything that’s been typed and then erased…which would eventually add up to quite a bit of mishmash I’m sure!)
Let me just give you a brief update with regard to where things are at in our lives today.
I’m writing this on Friday, and after today I will have ONE more radiation treatment (on Monday) and three more chemo treatments (Saturday, Sunday, and Monday). While both the chemo and radiation take a progressive toll on my body this week has been a better one with regard to energy. The two primary negatives as this point with regard to health are…
The good news far exceeds the bad! Here are some of the great things that we’re seeing or hearing these days…
Regarding what’s next in life for us here’s what we anticipate…
Things have been rough for the month of August as I’ve spent it sleeping and my wife’s spent it being a single parent (all of you single parents deserve so many more hugs than you receive!!!). My hope (and anticipation) is to view September as a time where we can slowly reenter into life, work, and continuing our downtown Vancouver work. While things may have been rough this month it would have been absolute hell without all of you. Over the last three months (surgery was on May 31st) we have had nearly fifty different people provide food in some capacity, we had nearly 100 of you visit us in the hospital, we were blessed by the amazing fund raiser at Pop Culture (that continues to linger around some downtown Vancouver restaurants/stores), we’ve had an amazing team of people help us with mowing the lawn, doing dishes, sweeping, and watering our struggling garden, and finally there have been literally thousands of people praying for us from all over the world. You all have been amazing. Thank you.*
*this isn’t a “thank you and you’re done”. Oh no! We’re not done with you yet! Please keep praying for us and please keep caring for my wife who has lots of recovery to do (my physical recovery is nothing compared with the depth of what she’s poured out of herself over the last three months). We are so incredibly still just in the middle of all this…and thanks to you we’ve made it thus far in such away that causes our doctors to use such words as “miraculous”. We love you all. Peace.
I wrote the following short story a few years ago for a worship gathering with my old faith community. (And I’ve shamelessly borrowed bits and pieces from different stories I’ve interacted with in the past) I’ve posted this on my blog before but the reason I am reposting it today is because I’ve had some new insights to the story. My goal was to write a follow up piece to post on the blog tomorrow in order to better flesh out and better tell the rest of the story…but I’m not sure I’m able to accomplish this feat…we’ll see…tomorrow.
I grew up in a good home, and I’m not just saying that, it really was a loving environment where both my parents cared for me and told me that they loved me often. As a little girl I was especially close to my dad. We would go on dates together, just he and I; he’d take me shopping at the mall even though he hated shopping. He said it made his wallet and his ankles hurt. Sometimes we’d just go out for ice cream and he’d dare me to get the biggest ice cream sundae they had, you know the one with 10 scoops that comes in a trough. We’d talk a lot over ice cream, and he’d always end the date by looking me straight in the eyes and saying that he loved me. My dad was amazing and I loved him very much.
But something changed my senior year. I shouldn’t say “something”, but I should say I changed. My dad was still loving toward me and my family was still near perfect, but I started exploring some new choices in life. I got a boyfriend who was quite a bit older than me. He was 25 and I was only 17. My friends at school said it was a pretty cool thing to date a guy so mature, but my parents told me it was a bad idea. I really liked Alex, that was my boy friend, and it infuriated me that my parents didn’t want us to be together. We loved each other…I thought. The moment that Alex and I started dating a chasm began to separate my parents and I. The relationship that was so close between my dad and I earlier on in my life became a distant memory. My dad still told me that he loved me but I would just scream back at him “if you really loved me then you’d let me and Alex be together!” I was so full of anger and frustration that I felt like a volcano building with pressure ready to explode at any seismic shift. Alex introduced me to a lot of new things that I had never tried before. I lost my virginity to him. We’d go to parties and get wasted on alcohol I’d never even heard of (which honestly doesn’t say much!). Alex always laughed at how innocent I was. At those parties I smoked marijuana for the first time, they all told me it wasn’t a big deal, but I knew that if my dad found out he’d be disappointed.
Right around the time I turned eighteen my family all went up to the cabin like we did every year. I said I didn’t want to go, that I was too old for that and had better things to do. Right before they left I lifted my dad’s credit and debit cards from his wallet and while they were gone I moved into Alex’ apartment. By the time my family got back I had withdrawn a bunch of money and maxed out a few of his credit cards. I don’t remember what I bought with it—probably lots of random shit.
Things with Alex went well at first, but after a few months I got pregnant. I was kind of freaked out and excited all at once with the idea of bringing new life into the world, but he was furious. How could I even think of keeping the baby he asked me? He called me a lot of names and hit me for the first time. I’ll never forget terminating that pregnancy, I felt dirty. And relieved. And the fact that I felt relieved made me feel dirty again. Honestly I didn’t know what to feel but with each subsequent abortion I had less and less feeling. Eventually I got numb and as the numbness increased so did the substance.
I don’t remember a whole lot over the next five years. I remember that I hated myself. I was addicted to so many different substances that I could barely even function in society. Alex and I didn’t last too long, but because of my need for a next high I had to find someone else to support me. I couldn’t keep a job but I had to keep up with my drug use so I ended up getting together with another guy, Josh. Like I said, I don’t remember a whole lot during this time, but I do remember that Josh was pretty nasty. He got me into stripping so that I could “do my part”. He’d have a lot of girls stay over, but he always told me that I was his first choice. He told me that I needed him, that the only reason I got a job stripping was because he knew the club owner. Josh said I was ugly and that I couldn’t get a job a gas station let alone at a club if it wasn’t for him. Eventually he had me sleeping with different buddies of his. It got him some extra money to fill his tumbler with more Jack he said. I felt pretty ugly both inside and out so I did whatever I could to forget who I was and where I was.
The next solid thing I remember in my story is kind of strange. I was completely high but from somewhere deep inside I gained some remnant of my dignity. I told Josh that I wasn’t going to sleep with his friends anymore; I told him I was better than that. Saying that set Josh off and he beat me so bad that you wouldn’t have been able to recognize me. I finally looked as terrible on the outside as I felt on the inside.
Once my face healed up a little bit, I found that I didn’t have anywhere to sleep ‘cause Josh had kicked me out, I didn’t have any income ‘cause who wants to watch a scared up woman dance, and so I didn’t have any way to feed my addictions. My past was like a mirage, I could barely even see it anymore. I hadn’t seen my family in years, and I knew that they must hate me completely. But the only idea I had was to call my parents and ask for some money. There was no other option. So I called my parents…three times. And each time I got the answering machine. The third time I left a message, I remember that message like it was yesterday. “Dad, mom, it’s me. I was wondering about maybe coming home for a little bit. I need to borrow some money and I’m catching a bus your way. My bus comes in at midnight next Friday. If you’re not there, I understand, and I’ll just stay on the bus until it hits Canada.” That message still haunts me. As I left it I just kept thinking they hate me, they hate me. I know they do. I hate me, so why wouldn’t they? Everything I had done to damage their little girl began running through my head like a movie—one of those movies that you regret watching because it ends in tragedy and for some reason wins lots of Academy Awards. I’m screwed wasn’t exactly what I said, but that’s about the only word I can use here. But I had no other option, so I got on the bus and headed home.
By the time the bus ride ended I didn’t have any finger nails left I was so nervous. I spent the whole time rehearsing what I was going to say, “Look dad, I know you’re disappointed in me and I’m a complete screw up. All I need is a few hundred bucks and then I’ll never bother you again.” It was my mantra, I kept saying it over and over again and in each scenario my dad had a different response some which ended in me killing myself, others ended in my dad strangling me, others ended with lots of shame, guilt, and me running away again.
As I neared the bus depot I put on my game face. “Look dad, I know you’re disappointed in me and I’m a complete screw up. All I need is a few hundred bucks and then I’ll never bother you again.” I was ready. I was ready for a fight. As the bus stopped I mustered my courage and walked off the bus. “Look dad, I know you’re disappointed in me and I’m a complete screw up. All I need is a few hundred bucks and then I’ll never bother you again.” But as my foot hit the ground outside the bus I saw my dad. Then my mom, then my old pastor, and my cousin with my aunt. There were nearly 30 people there to greet me. They were holding signs and banners. “Welcome home” “We love you” They all had goofy party hats on and those obnoxious noise makers. They were waving and screaming and as I walked off the bus my dad ran toward me and hugged me like I hadn’t been hugged in ten years. We were both sobbing uncontrollably. Through my tears I did manage to sputter out the words “Look dad, I know you’re disappointed in me and I’m a complete screw up. All I need is…” “I love you” he whispered into my ear interrupting my well prepared request. So I started again, “Look dad, I know you’re disappointed in…” “Shh, let’s not waste too much time here; you’ll be late for the big party back at the house.”
