thanksgiving was good

athena

Last weekend I took a break from my paper-writing marathon to enjoy a little snack with Brad (cranberry-studded cheese, crostini, and cracked Sicilian olives...very nice). We were sitting in a spot of sun in the backyard,the birds were flitting in and out of the grapefruit tree, and the lily in the pond was open and showing itself off splendidly. Brad was happy to be sitting down as he was flying furiously through a long list of house repairs and whatnot. We were soaking up the few moments we had to relax.

Then Shaddie started barking his head off to announce a visitor.

I could see through the carport and over the truck. It was our neighbor,whom Brad calls Athena, because she is from Athens, and because it's the only name he can remember for her.

Athena is quite elderly and lives by herself in this big old house two doors down. I love going to her house. It feels like what I imagine a Greek home in the old country to be: complete with a large statue in the living room and plastic flowers and crucifixes everywhere. And best of all, pictures of Athena when she was young and beautiful. She often asks me, "I still look pretty, no?"

I confess on this day I was not so happy to see Athena. I was in a panicked state regarding getting my 20-page paper done. I think I was on page 5 and the weekend was almost over. I actually hid behind the bouganvilla. I'm not proud of that, okay? But it's true. I looked at Brad with an imploring look. I think he said something like "I feel your pain."

So we invited Athena into the backyard where she shared some cheese and went into her usual astonished exclamations regarding her house phone.

Several times now we have come to Athena's aid with her phone. (Once she asked Nate to break one of her windows because she was locked out...but that's another story... yeah--Nate loved it) The only thing wrong with Athena's phone is that it needs new batteries. Every time. But she can't remember that, or maybe doesn't even realize that's what we keep doing--replacing the batteries. It's always the same... she is mystified that her phone won't work, and I think she is convinced that Brad is a genius and the only one who knows how to make her phone work again. It's rather endearing, if you want to know the truth.

Anyway, it's always a long process with Athena. She wants to feed you something from her kitchen (where the counters are covered with spoiling food), and it takes a long time to explain to her that her phone is working now. I stand right next to her and her phone, and call her from my cell, and she doesn't understand that it is me calling her. She asks, "Yes? Who is it?" Last time I foolishly tried to explain that it was me calling, but not into the phone, exactly. More like to her directly. She insisted no one was there, her phone was still not working, and hung up on me.

The thing is, I sort of worry about Athena. I can't imagine how she makes it through each day. Or why she hasn't keeled over from food poisoning, or wandered down the street and gotten lost. Yesterday she saw me walking past her house and didn't know it was me. She gave me the cold shoulder, thinking I was some stranger daring to walk on her street. (She complains constantly about her neighbors and other people, wrinkling her nose up in disgust)

But here's what I believe about Athena. God totally takes care of her. She tells me constantly that God tells her to come to our house when she has a problem. The first time I met her she told me that. People from her church take her shopping and pick her up for mass. She sleeps alone in that big house every night, prays before she goes to sleep, and stays safe. I doubt she always remembers to lock her doors.

Yesterday she introduced me to a young man who had come to take her to the grocery store. She described me as "the one God sends me to." I liked that so much, I thought I would burst from happiness.

She reminded me--in a finger-wagging sort of way--to remind her on Thursday that she is coming to our house for Thanksgiving. She is afraid I'm going to forget. Then she said "Come here," and pulled me to her with surprising strength for someone with such frail little arms.

Then she kissed me. Right on the mouth.

As I walked the rest of the way home I laughed and thanked God for Athena. And reminded Him--in an embarrassed sort of way--to remind me that stuff I am doing is not more important than being there for someone else.

I'm afraid I'm going to forget.

who's your daddy?

This morning I woke up with an uncomfortable realization. Pulling the covers over my head did not stave anything off so I got up.

In an earlier post I had made reference to Ted Haggard (yes i'm going to talk about it) by saying this: another man yelling 'Jesus' out his mouth has disgraced Him.

Which is true.

But this is what came to my mind this morning...

Last weekend I heard a speaker talking about grace and loving one another and all that. One thing he said has stuck with me. Indeed his words woke me with the dawn today:

"Satan is the father of lies
and accusations. God is a loving father. Do you accuse or love? When you
figure that out, you'll know who your father
is."

Ouch.

I like to talk about love and grace and forgiveness. But the truth is, I can stand and judge with the best--or the worst--of them. Some things I have deemed unforgiveable without realizing it... they swim in circles inside me with nowhere to land. I seem to be unconsciously refusing to hand them up to God, and therefore I am stuck with them. Around and around they go. Twisting and turning me through the night and into the morning hours.

I found this on another blog this morning. I think it is full of truth. God forgive me for my part in it:

1. Christians, and not just pastors, do not feel free
to disclose sins to anyone

2. Christians, including pastors, sin and sin
all the time

3. Christians, including pastors, in evangelicalism do not
have a mechanism of confession

4. Christians and pastors, because of the
environment of condemnation of sin and the absence of a mechanism of confession,
bottle up their sins, hide their sins, and create around themselves an apparent
purity and a reality of unconfessed/unadmitted sin.

5. When Christians
do confess, and it is often only after getting caught, they are eaten alive by
fellow evangelicals — thus leading some to deeper levels of secrecy and deceit.


What we saw with Haggard is not just about leaders; it is about all
of us.

Last night Brad and I went to the movies. While waiting for the cheeseball sham account of the story of Esther to begin, we saw this preview.

A woman can still hope.

quote of the day---and the free bonus? a little mental imagery

"I don't give a flying cow's butt about football."

--my daughter Sarah

"God's got my back"

Today between classes I got a call from the mother of a child I love. We have a long history, this child and his siblings, their mom, and I. She has turned her life over to Jesus, overcome meth and alcohol addiction, and has changed her life completely. Her kids, however, who were raised in utter chaos and deprivation, still struggle.

Today she told me that this boy I love is back in juvenile hall. For possession of a 38. That would be a snub nose .38 caliber revolver. He is 14.

He got it on the street from a friend. His probation officer found it in his room on a random search.

He was incarcerated a few months ago, and every time I visited him he swore to me (over numerous rounds of card games in which he throttled me) that he would never go back into the hall.

My first reaction to this news was panic. I sank down on a bench and held back tears and fear and tried very hard to be a comfort to my friend. But as it turns out she was the one who comforted me.

She assured me that God is in control. "I had just told Him the day before, 'God, I give you my son. Do what you want with him.' And then this happened. I trust Him. God's got my back, Jamie."

She told me their home had been broken into a few weeks ago. All the 'things' she has worked hard these past four years to attain were taken. Her son had become depressed after it happened. I know--from what I have learned--that depression is usually suppressed anger.

He got the gun to protect his family.

Think about it. You are 14. For the first 10 years of your life there was never enough food, and your house was a filthy mess with furniture disappearing when the need for drugs became more important. Your mom--whom you love and who is your only parent--was violent, passed out, or gone most of the time. Your home never felt safe.

Then things changed.

Your mother became healthier. Food and furniture became reliable. Your home was transformed into a place that felt good, safe, full of promise.

Then someone came into that home and threatened it. You are afraid it might all be taken away. You've seen the violent nature of adults in your life. You know what they are capable of. You have no faith in the police--most of the time they arrive too late and nothing is redeemed or recovered. In fact, the police have usually been there to take people you love from you, not save you from anything.

Somehow keeping a gun in my room doesn't seem like that crazy of an idea anymore.

My young friend has a court date and we don't know what will happen. I ask you to pray for him, and for the Holy Spirit to remind him that though the world is ugly and hard and sometimes very cruel, his mother's words are true: God has his back. And His arms are open wide.

dear mr. graham, i'm glad you were born

Reading the news today made my stomach hurt.

A hanging has been declared just, another man yelling 'Jesus' out his mouth has disgraced Him, and a child in our town was beaten to death in an 'after-school fist fight'.

But Billy Graham is alive and well at 88 and still talking about Jesus.

And somehow that cheered me a little.

Billy telling the troops Jesus loves them (Vietnam- Christmas Day, 1968)

girlfriend road trip

Going to Pasadena this weekend with my best girlfriend Katharine. Plans include the Outpouring and Release conference at Mott auditorium on William Carey International University campus, where I have lots of good memories, church at Harvest Rock, great worship, lots of walking, talking, book store browsing (hopefully not much shopping but I am going with Miss Kitty so... yeah), and maybe even hooking up with Mel.

Road trips are good for the soul.