Ravenous Needs

Sometimes God speaks to me from the most unusual sources. I guess that’s because He can’t depend on me to go searching in the right places most of the time and must therefore get to me where He can.
I read a movie review on my Netflix E-news this morning. Yes, I know. There’s a lot of stuff going on in the world that’s way more important than what I will see on Netflix News (evidence to support latter sentence in former paragraph). But it is what it is.
Here is the sentence that smacked me on the head:

Watching an audience cheer Diary of a Mad Black Woman is like watching hungry people feast on rancid garbage and tell themselves that it's delicious because their ravenous need has devoured all awareness and judgment.

Yikes.

God grabbed hold of my brain and turned it back to yesterday. I had woken up several times in the night thinking about what I’d experienced in the apartment of a young boy I know. His name is Anthony. Anthony, Jeremy, Miguel, and a couple of other kids broke into Dakota House and stole a bunch of stuff. Snacks mostly—Capri Suns, Flaming Hot Cheetos, Sour Warheads—you know the stuff--and toys we use for memory verse prizes…all things that we would just give to the kids, so the theft was ludicrous as well as disappointing.

Bobby, Irisa (my staff) and I paid a visit to the homes of these boys to speak to their parents and to try to deal with this infraction in a way that would actually give us more time with these boys: making them work off their debt by doing work at Dakota House. Our goal was to teach them about accountability and consequences, keep them involved with us, and show them love that does not go away because you have behaved badly.

While we did what we had set out to do--I was very proud of Bobby and Irisa—the parents’ behavior stunned and disturbed me. I sat on a filthy couch smelling of beer, vomit, and cigarettes, and looked into the eyes of young boys I love, while their parents berated them mercilessly. These parents—several of them high on crack while we were talking to them--who sell their food stamps to buy drugs and let their kids go hungry, and who are all sleeping with one another (when they are out of jail), and spend their days following their lusts wherever they lead them, spoke such ugly words over their children it was painful to witness. “You’re a moron”, “God, you’re stupid”, and “Why did I ever have you?” are some of the phrases I can bring myself to put in writing on this site.

The parents were all looking at each other asking themselves, “How could they do this to us? Don’t they see how good they have it?” One father actually said, “You don’t deserve parents like us.”

Word to that.

I tried to gently explain to the parents that what they tell their children they are is what they will believe they are. I advised them to speak encouraging words over their kids. I tell them I am learning some of this in my own therapy and we all have wounds from things said to us. They look at me as if I am speaking Croatian and have a chicken sitting on my head.

Okay I just read what I have written and realize I am angry at these parents and not being very compassionate with them. ‘Judgmental’ is a word that comes to mind. But I won’t delete it because it is how I feel. It is what it is. My new saying.

So fast forward to this morning. Coffee cup in hand, I stare blearily at my monitor. Ravenous needs that devour all awareness and judgment. Then I realize God is trying to tell me something.

Those parents are just my beloved Dakota House kids grown up. They have a ravenous need to lash out against their anger, to numb their pain, to fill the emptiness inside them, to feel something other than their own misery. These are people who as children were locked in closets for days at a time (true story), sexually abused, neglected, beaten, and abandoned. Their ravenous needs have blinded them to the fact that they are doing the same to their own children. They gorge themselves on rancid garbage and expect it to fill them up, but their systems--that are in fact designed by God--are rejecting it and they are throwing up all over their kids.

These concepts are not new to me. Not to you, either, I am sure. But sometimes I need to be reminded. And sometimes I need to pour some stuff out of my heart because it is just plain too heavy.

Jesus--help me to not only have compassion for these people whom you love but to take a look at my own ravenous needs as well.

J.

P.S. All of the boys showed up at Dakota House later in the afternoon for their consequences. They cleaned up trash in the alley, scrubbed out the fish pond, cleared away hundreds of dead cockroaches, and organized the garage. They left with Warheads in their pockets and the promise that they are still loved in their hearts.

I've fallen down and I can't get up or I need one of those EASY buttons from the Super Bowl advertisement

Psalm 42

To the choirmaster. A Maskil of the Sons of Korah. As a heart longs for flowing streams, so longs my soul for thee, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God? My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me continually, "Where is your God?" These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival. Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God. My soul is cast down within me, therefore I remember thee from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar. Deep calls to deep at the thunder of thy cataracts; all thy waves and thy billows have gone over me. By day the LORD commands his steadfast love; and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. I say to God, my rock: "Why hast thou forgotten me? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?" As with a deadly wound in my body, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me continually, "Where is your God?" Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.

Rocks sink

All of this wonderful talk about things floating got me thinking about what does not float. Well sometimes does not float.
I use to love it in my science classes when I would show students how well a paper clip could float in water if you did not break the "seal" on the water surface. It was fun. But then the moment came when I would get out a (volcanic) rock and it would float. The class would look at the rock and then they and then me would say something like, "Rocks sink!" Well, they are suppose to unless they are real porous and have air sealed in their insides. That was the key. They had to have a broken surface that allowed it to be full of air in their past and then sealed to where it was not allowed to escape.
I started thinking that it is kind of like us. We open up, we let the outside of us be opened, He breathes the life of His spirit into us and bingo, we're floating in the river of His life. Niiiiccceeeeeeee. It seems to me that the deeper He goes, the more we are filled with the "wind" of His spirit and more we float.
Rocks usually sink, but it is really cool when they float.

hope floats

in reading some other blogs on this site, i was thinking about "sorrow floats", and about joy, and i said to myself, "hope floats". i think it was the name of a movie i have seen sometime, or perhaps a book, i really couldn't tell you where i heard it, but i know that it makes sense to me, hope never really goes away, at least not for me. can you imagine me continuing on this journey without hope? i don't think so! everytime i think that i am at the end of my rope, that i cannot go on, that it isn't worth the effort and pain and tears and all of it, hope rises to the top, and shows me that i can do it, that i at least have to try once more. there are times, tuesday night being one of them, that i think, i don't want to do this, not one more memory, not one more piece of horrible information about my past, i don't want to know anymore, i am at my breaking point, i think this, yet, i want to be free, and whole and able to live my life to the fullest, for so very long, i didn't really live, i existed in a world that no one should have to live in. i survived. barely at times, but i know that if i could make it through that, i can't give up now. hope somehow beckons me back to the place where even fear and it's massive walls can't keep me out of, i plunge in, and don't look back, it hurts like hell, i want to quit, but after it's done, and i rest, and reflect, it is so much better, and that gives me more hope, and so sorrow may float, but so does hope, and i choose hope.

I Didn't Get A Snickerdoodle

Jamie, you are a blogging machine.

Yesterday evening we left Calvin Crest as I was in the middle of a three hour (or so) headache. I totally forgot about prayer, so when Lyndsay walked into the office and said, "Ready to go?", I broke internally. I hit that point where everything frustrated me. Any word or action from anybody I wasn't expecting only made my head hurt worse. I wasn't entirely excited to drive to Fresno.

I didn't say much during prayer last night. My head hurt and I have a pretty hefty case of spiritual ADD. But what I did notice, and was blessed by, was how comforting it was to rest while around me your words and prayers were flying up. There is something soothing about being around people who pray. Sometimes I feel bad for staying quiet - like I'm not "involved" - but know that I'm with you, enjoying the communion.

Emily, Aimee, and Sarah

Blossoms from Dung

Last night Bryan (a.k.a. Cos) said something very cool about blossoms coming from dung. Or something like that. (Bryan if you are reading this please give us that scripture again) I keep thinking about it. It is what God does. The reason I know most of the people on the Tuesday night prayer team is because of some really horrible things that happened to Debbie. God has brought comfort and beauty out of pain and ugliness.
The picture below looks like a stick in mud with some leaves on it. Well, it is a stick in mud with some leaves on it. But it used to be a beautiful lavender rose. The most beautiful rose in our garden, in my opinion.
That beautiful rose bush has been trampled, sat, and pooped upon. We have dogs. In fact if I were you I wouldn't look too closely at the 'mud' in the picture, if you know what I'm saying.
I believe with all my heart that we will one day again see gorgeous lavender roses blooming in colorful glory right here on this stick.
Apply appropriately to one and all of us.

blooming potential

Joy Floats

I used to love a book entitled : The Hotel New Hampshire. I'm afraid to read it again because I think I wouldn't be able to get past a lot of the icky stuff, which is too bad because I really liked that book. One of the running themes through the story was: 'sorrow floats,' the idea being that sorrow never really goes away. It might go under for a while, but soon enough it will come back to the surface, taking a different and unexpected form, but back again all the same.
Maybe that's true, but this morning I'm putting in a plug for JOY. Because joy takes many forms, too.
Sometimes it arrives simply, like in the form of a t-shirt given in love.
Sometimes it emerges slowly, from a deep place, when you are tentatively and cautiously pulling something from a place of pain in your heart, and offering it up to people whom you are learning to love and trust. And they, being of like mind and of one body, treat that pain with care and love. And the sound of their voices, and words brought to that pain, and the presence of Jesus brings such deep and profound joy you can hardly speak.
Sometimes it shows up warm and sweet, on a plate, and calls itself snickerdoodle.

shirt reads: 'Who's the only one here who knows the illegal ninja moves from the government?'

a full house

i admit i was nervous, more nervous than i have been in a long while on a tuesday. it seemed like an ordinary enough day, yet, in the pit of my stomach i was scared. i can't say that i didn't want to go because that isn't true, i was just scared. as i was driving there, everything started to fall apart, i forgot my smokes, i punched a hole in my iced tea cup, and i wanted to turn around and go home, but... i didn't, i stopped bought smokes and a new cup and got back on the road, i was late, i didn't mean to be, didn't want to be, but as i was walking up i noticed something different, people, lots and lots of people, 14 people, i think, i then started to get really scared, usually when god sends in re-inforcements, it means that something big is coming, i wanted to run, but i didn't, i didn't get much time to talk and visit and laugh with all of the people, which was kind of sad, all these people are here to pray, to worship and to fellowship with the group, this group that has become my family. i didn't choose these people, god did that for me, and tonight, they showed up in force, i am so lucky and blessed to have them, i hope that they know how much they mean to me, even when i barely see them. thank you god for my family. thank you so much for loving me enough to place them all in my life..

Salvation on a Stick

As I was reading about Jesus last week, I stumbled onto something that is most likely old news to everyone but myself. I'll try to keep it short (so that the reader will not get bored halfway through and decide that they have something better to do, like wash hair, brush teeth, eat Honey Combs, make prank calls, etc. etc.), but must admit that I am wonderfully in love with this image. Rest assured, however, that when you have finished this, your minds will either (a) be blown away that I, Jason, have attempted to get spiritual, (b) decided that I, Jason, am a flippin' idiot, a menace to society, and should not be taken seriously, or (c) attempt to purge all recollection of me, Jason, by deleting all of my comments, burning all memorabilia that may possibly reflect even a scent of my participation in your life, and undergoing experimental hypnosis therapy in an attempt to wipe your brain clean.

The third chapter of John gives a description of Jesus giving a lesson to Nicodemus. You undoubtedly have heard all about how the respected Pharisee visited Jesus late at night, most likely because he was afraid of what others would think. You remember the words of Jesus explaining that one must be "born again" or "born from above" in order to see the Kingdom of God. Of course, no one can forget the discourse of how the Spirit moves to and fro as the wind. And don't even get me started with that whole John 3:16 thing. These are all words that are worthy of being pondered over and treasured, but this is not what has been rolling around in my mind as of late.

Instead, I find myself getting excited over verses 14-15. It is verse 14 that sets it up, and verse 15 that drops the hammer. (It is here that you must find your own Bible, for I am far too lazy to do all the work for you.) What did Moses and a snake have to do with Jesus? It's often one of those things that just gets skipped over as I read the text, not understanding what Jesus is talking about, but too lazy and apathetic to look for the answers to, satisfied to move along in blissful ignorance. After all, what does a snake in the desert have to do with the "coolness," or if you will, "cool-ah-city", of Jesus? Unless he is planning on making a snake-skinned vest. Or maybe some boots. Perhaps Jesus just stomps on the head of the snake with his heel like is shown in "The Passion of Christ". Hmmmm. I am now intrigued.

Through some simple investigative work, I find Numbers 21:4-9. I read of how God commanded Moses to create a bronze snake, place it high upon a pole, and when one is bitten, all he or she must do is look to the snake and be rescued from what is sure to be a miserable death. I am blown away by how the sin created death, however, all one must do to be rescued is to look at that bronze snake and he or she is healed! And then it hits me.

I return to John 3 and read it again. I am captured by "...so the Son of Man must be lifted up..." and then, "...everyone who believes in him may have eternal life." All of the sudden an extraordinary image is painted into my mind. I am laying on the ground, dying from the venomous poison that is sin. It is my sin. It is my fault. Just as the disobedience of the Israelites brought calamity upon themselves, so we all bring about our own punishment through our disobedience. Yet, there is one who rescues us from such despair, which is so rightly deserved. There he is. Jesus, hanging from a pole. All I have to do is look to him, and the poison of sin is sucked from my body. I am healed. I am whole. I am new. Such is the image of God's grace and mercy. That image is enough to humble me. That image is enough to get me excited.

The Yellowdart hits a bullseye.

Trash the disposable life

THE YELLOWDART

Have you tried the new disposable toilet scrubbers? Neither have I. I am one of many who saw the commercials and laughed. Before this compelling marketing campaign, I didn't know my toilet brush had to be clean enough to do my dishes, too. As a woman on the advertisement so keenly points out, toilet brushes are "germy." They're toilet brushes. Get over it.
It isn't just toilet brushes, though. Western society seems to be in a heated race with itself to come up with the next convenient, disposable product. Cameras, dishes, cleaning supplies, e-mail addresses, underwear and even computers can now be obtained in disposable format. The medical community's understandable concern with complete sterility has spread to the everyday household, playing on a paranoia that seems to come naturally. You don't have to worry about ever coming into contact with the mess if you can just throw it away.
The problem is not with individual products but with the attitudes that produce and proliferate them. The majority of disposable consumer products are produced for convenience rather than necessity. Laziness, squeamishness and even a sense of entitlement can all play into our decision to go disposable. No one could reasonably expect us to dust our furniture or mop our bathrooms unless the whole process is quick, easy and at least two feet removed from anything dirty. Usually more expensive than conventional products, these products promise the instant gratification we consumers demand and expect.
The same goes for "disposable" experiences. According to stories from several news sources, this summer the owner of Hoheneck Castle in former East Germany has opened it as a very different kind of resort. Instead of massages and fine dining, tourists “enjoy” 24 hours of communist-style incarceration in the former women's prison. For only $122, they can live history first hand by eating bad food and being deprived of sleep. The next day, they go on to taste the delights of Vienna or Paris.
Prisoners of communism endured unthinkable pain for years and decades, never knowing if they might be executed or freed the next day. Now, those who are rich and curious enough can buy a disposable experience, an imitation of suffering they know they will discard the next day. We'll pay a high price for a thrill that is thrilling only because it is temporary.
Much has been said recently about the decline of marriage, another increasingly temporary arrangement. Perhaps we should consider the possibility that the same attitude that demands a disposable toilet scrubber has brought the downfall of the lifetime covenant. If it gets messy, just throw it away. Even in lesser romantic relationships, many are just practicing for divorce by trying and discarding one relationship after another. Good friendships are tainted forever because "it just didn't work out," and we leave a trail of human litter as we move on with our disposable lives.
I'm not saying we should expect everything to last. Sometimes it's good to throw stuff away. By getting rid of junk, we can eliminate distractions and pare our lives down to the things which really matter. There is nothing wrong with trashing worthless or entangling things.
Paul recommends such a cleanup in Colossians 3:8-10: "But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator."
Notice what is thrown away and what is kept. The "old self with its practices" is trash, and it can only hurt us if we keep it around. But the new self endures. It doesn't stay clean by clicking the handy tab and inserting a replacement cartridge. It keeps being renewed in accordance with what its Creator looks like.
There is something wonderfully permanent about this new self that is renewed rather than replaced. It maintains a consistent relationship with its Renewer. It reminds us of our connection with truly eternal things. It can grow and develop, becoming more versatile and beautiful over time.
The new self has the capacity to shed the trash and endure hardship for the sake of its eternal goal: "... let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance .... Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart" (Hebrews 12:1, 3).
Let's not make it harder for ourselves by becoming entangled in our own pile of trash. There is enough suffering in the world without having to buy a prison sentence. Our landfills are large enough without disposable toilet brushes. Maybe it's time to get on our knees and just scrub the toilet. And while we're down there, we could take our new selves in for a few repairs.

Contact The Yellow Dart at yelladart@yahoo.com.

More from the "Yellow Dart"

This was written in December 2004 by a friend of mine, The Yellowdart. Enjoy.

It's a special time of year

THE YELLOWDART

We begin with a thought from "The Incredibles": "Saying everybody is special is just another way of saying nobody is." The statement appears in a negative context, as if there really ought to be something special about being special. In fact, the entire movie propounds the idea that special people are, well, special.
Think about that for a minute. "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others" is somewhat less than a positive statement in George Orwell's 1945 political novel, Animal Farm. But isn't it the same idea that now resurfaces in, of all places, a Disney animation?
"Special should be special" is quite a surprise coming from a Hollywood accustomed to upholding the American ideal of absolute egalitarianism. From the moment we are born, we are indoctrinated with the American dream: anyone can do anything by trying hard enough and long enough. No one is better than anyone else.
So why does this idea of being special keep resurfacing? Why, after years of fighting racial discrimination and class conflict, do we question our hard-won equality? Is it possible that there is something to question?
Admittedly or no, we all think that way at times. It was not hard to think of myself as somewhat "special" while the folks behind me in the theater were chewing with their mouths open and belly-laughing whenever one of the characters got pummeled. Of course I am better at eating quietly and respecting the dignity of humanity than those jerks.
But does that make me better? Does that example or the movie itself give compelling proof that there is an inborn superiority in some of us? I don't think so. But "The Incredibles" reminds us of that sense that we cannot abolish the special, nor do we really want to.
Postmodernists tell us that every discipline and value system is a product of culture. Religion is legitimate because it is a construct of meaning in life within our culture, but no religion is any better than another. All are special; none are special.
Christianity goes against this philosophical tide by making the claim that it is unique. It is legitimate and universal, while other religions are not. In essence, the others are all the same: perversions of the knowable Truth in the Bible. This account sounds nearly as arrogant as its detractors claim it is.
But as the townsfolk of the movie find, sometimes we need something extraordinary to save us from evil. Perhaps that is why the idea of the special won't stay submerged. It is hard-wired into our consciousness. We know there should be something, someone special to handle the threats of this crooked world. We are helpless without Mr. Incredible.
As we enter the Christmas season, consider the reason we celebrate. The world tells us Jesus (if he ever existed) was just another man. Coming in the form of humanity, the screaming infant must have looked anything but special. But what other newborn was ever welcomed by strangers and heavenly hosts alike? This little man was special.
And he still is. In the figure of Jesus, Christianity and other religions part ways. They all have codes of ethics, prophets, rituals and spiritualism. But in what other religion did God become man and die for the sole purpose of restoring fellowship with man? Christianity is only unique because of the uniqueness of its namesake.
So, can we all be special? Indeed. In submitting to Christ's unique authority, we are freed from the mediocrity imposed by absolute equality. We no longer measure value by being "just as good" as others. We are special because we each have a unique calling from Mr. Incredible himself. When I worry that Susie or Joe might be better than I am, Jesus says to me what he said to Peter: "What is that to you? You must follow me."

Contact The Yellow Dart at yelladart@yahoo.com.

Here's something to think about...

Here is a little something written by someone I know who wants to remain anonymous. Enjoy.

Some things should go without saying.

THE YELLOWDART

Nothing in America goes without saying. Just the fact that our language contains the expression "goes without saying" is an indicator that we don't usually let things pass without comment. News radio and television talk over events and non-events until every facet, obvious or absurd, has been explored more than once.
A recent event which fully supports this observation is the earthquake and tsunami tragedy in South Asia. Newscasters constantly keep us informed of the ascending death toll as well as the extremely self-conscious outflow of charity rightly inspired by the event.
Countries and people, moved by images and stories of disaster, began immediately to pledge financial assistance to the relief effort. Our government's pledge of $350 million appeared huge until it was one-upped by Japan's $500 million, Germany's $674 million, and Australia's $810 million. Uneasiness entered the American consciousness as we realized we were slipping behind on the world donor list.
That's the first red flag for us Christians. The successive increase in pledges from all these countries seems to be motivated by a desire to appear more generous than others. Some have even suggested that giving our money will buy us an advantage in the hearts of those who hate us.
If governments are under the same rules as individuals (admittedly a big "if" in some areas), then competitive or conciliating motives directly contradict the idea that "each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion" (II Cor. 9:7). Under this principle, we would give the same whether these factors were in place or not.
Even if this principle does not apply to countries, the self-congratulating charity glut created by individuals is enough to raise an eyebrow. Our news sources flooded us with reports that one person gave so much while another did not give enough, especially considering the millions he could have given. Kids holding bake sales were lauded and rich businessmen criticized because everyone heard about their contributions.
Jesus had a bucket of cold water for this whole scene: "But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret" (Matt. 6:3-4). His strong terms indicate that this is no slovenly secrecy; as in every good spy organization, it is vital that we do everything we can to conceal our good deeds. We even end up praying in closets and masking our hunger on this system.
What a far cry from the back-patting we've grown accustomed to dishing out! Our churches applaud themselves and each other for how well their ministries are doing. In our accountability groups we cannot wait to share our selfless acts in as discreet a manner as we can manage. After all, what can possibly be wrong with giving credit where credit is due?
Jesus always had a way of getting to the heart of the matter. He knew that the two right motivations for giving, genuine compassion and obedience to God, were served by secrecy. Simultaneously, secrecy would cut through all the other complicated motivations that can get twisted around otherwise well-meaning hearts.
Jesus was consistent with his own teaching, repeatedly telling those he healed to keep his involvement a secret. He created no fanfare for himself until he made the bold move of riding into Jerusalem on a colt. Even then, the praise which bathed him was a spontaneous gift from an appreciative audience, not an orchestrated rally of supporters like the ones we saw so often during the election year.
After the triumphal entry, we see Jesus' resolution for active secrecy in addition to passive secrecy. Asked to give the source of authority for his deeds, he evaded the question rather than smugly retorting, "I'm God," or adopting false humility. He let his qualifications go without saying, having already given sufficient evidence of who he was in his conduct. After seeing his miracles, hearing his teachings, and witnessing his magnificent entrance, his interrogators already knew the truth.
Really, Jesus' teachings and example are not far from common sense. No one likes to hear people talking about the great things they've done; we like even less to be subjected to the manipulative wrangling we all use on occasion to extort praise for our good deeds. The people we most admire actually force us to spy in order to find out what they're up to.
Let's give it a try. For one week, let's take Jesus literally. Let's do our giving, praying, and fasting as if we would be tortured if anyone found out. Let's hold our tongues and let our attitudes and behavior speak for us. After it's over, we'll have a discussion group to compare notes on how we did. Or, we could just let it go without saying.

today i am a mother

today i am a mother, like that isn't what i am everyday?! but today, i had to step it up. be the strong one, the rock in a childs big scary world. zedekiah got braces today! it is a new beginning in his life. he is so dramatic that i almost laughed aloud a few times. the girl working on his teeth, did laugh. he wants to know exactly what is happening, why it is happening, how long will it take to happen, and what is being used to make it happen. it was an interesting time i had with my son today. took him to lunch that he could barely eat, and then the dreaded orthodontist office. he went to the bathroom twice before they ever saw him. i sat there listening to him question each and every move that was being made, and it occured to me, that to my son, who is nearly 11, this was the scariest thing that he has ever gone through. he has not had to worry about anyone hurting him, or leaving him, so to him this was a HUGE deal! and i smiled inside because i had done my job, being his parent, one that loves and protects him, encourages, and disciplines him, one that laughs and jokes with him, watching endless hours of gameboy and ps2 games, i have guided him and loved him, taught him to love and honor god, i did it, i actually did it, i am a mother today, and i did a good job.

What can we do?

It was 6 years ago at the Tower Christian School Valentines Day party that the unthinkable happened. The 65 kids aged 1-13 had completed all the activities planned and we still had around 45 minutes left before the rest of the parents came to pick them up. The lady incharge came over to me and asked me, "What can we do?" With the kids bodies full of sugar, I figured that a wonderful nap time was not going to happen. Nor did I think that "Heads up 7-up" was in order. So I suggested a paper airplane contest the kind I had in my 8th grade science class every year. It was simple, cheap and a lot of fun. I appointed a few parents for the job of judges and away we went. It was a blast. Anyway, two years ago, Tower Christian School was awarded 1st place in the state by a state wide home school organization for having the best field trip/event in the entire state. The event? The paper airplane contest. Check out the winners from this year's contest in the above link. I hope that it will work. If not, then type this in and see what happens: http://www.towerchristian.com/Pictures/Valentines%202005/2005.html
Blessings,
George

A Phenomenal Day

Right now there is hail pelting down upon us…pellets the size of Jujubes. I just said that because I like the sound of the word ‘Jujubes’ and I hardly ever get to use it. But earlier today there was sun. Did you see it? I believe that’s what it was. For approximately five minutes I felt something foreign yet familiar….warmth on my skin and some bright substance in the sky that made me squint when I looked at it.
And if that strange phenomenon were not enough, something even crazier happened. My son Nate came out of the basement! For all you doubters and nay-sayers out there I have proof and it is posted below.

This is Nate as I usually see him. His head is attached to XBox Live. Rest easy because he is at his post continuously, protecting our home and yours from aliens, terrorists, and wayward wookies.

This is Nate today. He and Emily are playing with Shaddie. Note he has emerged from the basement, dispelling the rumor that exposure to sunlight will cause him to spontaneously combust.

No ink on the paper!

Thanks Brad for getting me on-line here. Thanks Jamie for the invitation.
This blog is a bit scary because it does not have a spel chek. I learnd speling good at schol.
I just got back from the Sunday night prayer time and it was great. Oh it was hard all the way to the deepest part of us. People that came tonight couldn't stand it any longer. They figured that Jesus was there for a reason. So they decided to open up. Be real. Get it all out on the table and some spilled onto the floor. It was messy, uncomfortable, but boy was it good. Deep down inside good. Their courage was contagious. I too got caught up in it all. It was NIccceeeeeeeee! Awesommmmmmeeeee!
I suppose that prunning is not that neat and clean. It even hurts, but there something coming. It has happened before in all of us and it will happen again. This "getting ready" time. Time to bear more fruit.
I came home to print some certificates for tomorrow's Tower Christian School party and my printer will not print the black ink even though I just put a new ick containier in it. It still won't work. I even used the utility to clean the heads several frustrating times. Nothing. I am surprised how little it takes to get me back into the everyday world. Boom! I'm back.
I liked it better at the prayer meeting.
Ink in the printer, none on the page.

A Ragtag Collection of Surrendered and Transformed People

Dear Seed-throwers and Fire-starters,

It is Sunday morning and I cannot sleep. I keep thinking about Mel's reflections on light and darkness. Though I did not know this young man who has taken his life, I hurt. Because the darkness permeates and I see it every day.
Yesterday I was informed that Clarence Cooper, a sixth grade Dakota House kid whom I have loved since he was in kindergarten, had a gun pulled on him in the bathroom at school on Friday. And another little boy, Jordan, whom I am just beginning to love, witnessed it and went for help, putting his own life in jeopardy in the weeks to come. This is elementary school.
Nothing may come of this. It will probably blow over and be just one more incident in the ghetto. But I can't stop thinking about what this does to the hearts of young boys, who are looking to their future, and perhaps wondering if they will even have one.
The last few lines of Psalm 139--where Mel and Jesus led me--say this:

SEARCH ME, O GOD, AND KNOW MY HEART;

TEST ME AND KNOW MY ANXIOUS THOUGHTS.

SEE IF THERE IS ANY OFFENSIVE WAY IN ME

AND LEAD ME IN THE WAY EVERLASTING

So I go back to where God keeps leading me: looking at my own heart and working there. Because when we all do that it is what will change the world.

My friend showed up at my door unexpectedly one afternoon after hearing a speaker at her church. She handed me a piece of paper with these words scrawled upon it:

"Imagine a ragtag collection of surrendered

and transformed people who love God and others.

They're mesmerized by the idea that

this isn't about them but all for Jesus.

They're transfixed by His story and His heart for their city.

They are seed-throwers and fire-starters,

hope-peddlers and grace-givers,

risk-takers and dreamers, young and old.

They link arms with anyone who tells the story of Jesus.

They empower the poor, strengthen the weak,

embrace the outcast, seek the lost.

They serve together, play together,

worship together, live together.

their city will change because God sent them.

They are us.

We believe that small things done with great love will change the world."

Grateful to link arms with you,

Jamie

CLARENCE COOPER
Dakota House camping trip
Summer 2004

Reflections on light and darkness

Psalm 139 states that the dark is not truly dark to God, in fact, light and dark are the same to Him. I find a promise in this passage in the news of my friend taking his own life. The tragedy itself is completely dark and black...there is no goodness or light in his life prematurely ending at his own will. However, the God who can create light out of a nothingness, the God who sees through the darkness as if He was looking at a brilliantly lit day; this is the same God who will take this dark and tragic triumph of the enemy and cause some form of light to come from it. Although these reflections do not ease the pain and sadness of my friend's death, they do sustain my hope in the superior and ultimate power of Jesus Christ.

Pray

There have been many times I have been driven to my knees in prayer with the understanding that there is really no other place to go. I've just gotta pray. For me this means, putting down the "to-do" list, setting aside the what seems like endless list of books I am supposed to read for class and pushing that 10 page paper to the side for a little longer and taking time to sit with Jesus.

a mother and child

This morning I received a call from a friend in crisis. It was that dreaded sound in her voice--I heard it the instant the receiver touched my ear... the one that freezes you and in an instant makes all bad things possible:accidents, painful secrets revealed, death. This time someone is in the hospital: a baby might not be born alive, the young mother's life is in peril.
It is my best friend who has called me, and she wants to cry, to wail her fear and sorrow to me. Her heart aches and the fear is too big to bear alone. I cannot make it better for her. I think of the Henri Nouwen quote from Brad yesterday. It is my time to simply be there. I can offer no great words of advice. We both know Jesus is in the room with our friend. I tell her I will pray and she already knows this. I tell her I love her, and this is just the smallest bit of salve to ease her pain. In this friendship we have known deep sorrows and great joys. We will have more of both. There is comfort in believing Jesus knew long ago we would need one another and He set His hand to bringing us together.
Now the pile of laundry I swore I would fold and the agenda for tonight's meeting and the return calls and messages that loomed so large in the night have slipped back into their rightful places. A mother and child are standing on the edge of life itself, a part of this great, clumsy, beautiful body we belong to is threatened, and I fall to my knees and pour my heart out, too. For there is One whose arms are the greatest comfort of all, and I long to be in them.

Friends--posted by Brad, not George (technical difficulties too complicated to explain or even understand)

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face us with the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. ---Henri Nouwen

*NEW MEMBERS: READ THIS FIRST*

BURN AND MAKE ME NEW

Last night Brad and I sat with friends who--by way of Jesus and time spent praying together-- are becoming family, and I began to have this feeling that perhaps we have been brought together to help one another in the burning process. By that I mean what John Donne refers to in his sonnet (see above) : when God breaks us, blows us around, and burns us to the core of our being in order to make new creatures of us--the ones He formed in the womb before all the arrows were shot at us (John Eldredge/Sacred Romance). I believe Brad and I are in that process and it occured to me that perhaps some of the rest of you are as well. I am thinking that maybe we could use this site to ask questions, share ideas, request prayer, recommend books, suggest movies that don't suck, make each other laugh, whatever....

So let me know if you are interested. I believe we are a gift to one another.

His, Jamie

Some things I have learned recently:

If God heals it is permanent.

My present situation is not the

primary source of pain.

Everything you do is based on everything you've already done.

Shaddie and me at Limekiln. (photo by Brad Barker)