Not Caring about Sharing

Hello my Friend!

I didn’t write you last week and I’m feeling bad about it.  I wish I could report adventures kept me from communicating but I’d be lying.  By the time Sunday dawned, I was so discouraged I put myself in quarantine instead of writing.  It’s hard to be encouraging when you hate the entire planet.  When you believe nothing will solve the world’s problems but the rapture, wisdom dictates a time out.  I decided to engage in serious tea time therapy.  Three cups later smoke was still coming out of my ears.

It hadn’t been a bad weekend either.  Saturday was spent with a group of homeschoolers.  They rented a church for a fancy shindig and I nobly signed up to volunteer: I enjoy the busyness of gatherings.  Placed on kitchen duty, I spend the majority of my time shuffling platters of yumminess from the kitchen to the hall.  It was an afternoon of honest back breaking labor with hardworking friends.  It was nice.  Until it wasn’t…….

It’s been a rough year as far as churches are concerned.  I’m supposed to be learning something, but I think I’m failing the lesson.  Since September, I have witnessed 4 churches behave in ways I wish they hadn’t. I’m not certain the Lord was impressed either.  Truth be told, I’m trying to say these places behaved like selfish, deranged, over privileged teenage monsters without coming out and saying it directly.

How am I doing?  Subtle enough for you?

Before you give me trouble, let me assure you I’m not expecting perfection.  I don’t need the “church-is-a-hospital-for-sinners-so-expect-sin” lecture; that won’t help me because it isn’t the sin of these churches that has caused their problems, it’s their success.  I decided this as I watched a church staff member lose his spleen on a hard working volunteer.  I had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the right time and witnessed this fellow's face turn as red as his shirt as he explained everything the volunteer committee had done wrong.  Without going into details, something broke, not a person, not a heart, but part of the building.  The cost of the repair was minimal and the fellow was having a bad day.  I know because I’ve turned red and lost my spleen too.   

I think the problem starts with chairs.  Once a church starts buying chairs things get tricky.  It should be stated that acquiring a building generally happens before chairs are purchased.  Sometimes, church buildings come with chairs and that is a bonus.  Regardless, if the building comes with chairs or not, people are blessed to own a church building.  They say things like, “God was kind to give us this building and we are truly thankful.” And they are.  This thankfulness continues unabated for quite a while.  Members are happy paying a mortgage instead of rent and everyone is pleased.  So happy in fact, that they drink juice and eat cookies, it’s a really good time. 

Years can pass and members move into their new home and become versed in the power of chewing gum and coffee stains.  They are blessed church building owners.  At some point though, if the Lord sees fit to grow the congregation, someone is bound to say “Hey, don’t you think it would be a good idea if we bought some chairs?”  Of course, another congregant will agree because who doesn’t like chairs? 

Did you know chairs are stupid expensive?  Look it up sometime, you’ll be amazed.  The church is amazed too, but purchases the chairs anyway because people at church need a place to stash their mochas. This is when things get tricky.  The church becomes known in the community for having rooms with seating.  Organizations that don’t have building or chairs, are continually looking to rent places that have them.  Churches fit the bill and are willing to share their space with building-less groups.  This agreement works fairly well until something happens to the church’s chairs.  Here’s why – chairs can break.  There are many reasons why this happens but sadly when a building-less group breaks a churches chair the mochas will fly.

I have a theory and I’m willing to share it.

Churches are good at remembering God owns their buildings.  Maybe because they are adorned with crosses.  It’s hard to be a selfish shellfish when you are staring at the symbol representing the Lord’s crucifixion.  Churches are not as good at remembering the chairs belong to God too.  I think it’s because the chairs cost so much, but we covered that…. I suspect that if we put crosses on every chair in the church, it might be easier to remember our possessions belong ultimately to the Lord.

I don’t want to go all Christianese on you but here’s the truth, we make up the church.

Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.  For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.  Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many. 1 Cor 12:12-14

So if I’m finding the church kind of lame and bad at sharing their resources, it makes sense that I would reflect upon how I’m doing in these areas.  (Badly I think, I was so cross with one of my children for spilling tea in the car I told her she couldn't drive my car till she was 30.) And because I love company I wanted to ask you friend, how are you with sharing your toys these days?  I urge you to take an inventory and reflect on the past year.  Have you conveyed the message that people are more important than possessions?  That the scratched paint job on your car is less important than the teen who backed into the parking meridian?  That relationship is the most valuable treasure you can possess?

Summer is a great time to get generous, work on relationships and share your sandbox.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren 

It's A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

I use Facebook once a week for three minutes so it’s not surprising I missed the private message.  Everything on the fb page is confusing and to be honest I spend most of my time turning off their notifications.  (Because truthfully, as a person I love you but I could care less that you had a bagel for lunch.  You are coming across as strange and mildly narcissistic.  Take your bagel outside and share your lunch with someone.  Have a real conversation with a real person then don’t post about it.  We’ll all feel better.  Sorry.  Small rant.)   After clicking on the little red box on the top of my home page, I realized that I had a note from a name I didn’t recognize.  

A bit of reading and I find out a darling soul is going out of her way to track me down and deliver my mail.  We exchange phone numbers and a few days later, I am at the door of my old rental house, in my old neighborhood, facing my old feelings of loss.  I’m not sure why my girlfriend decided to send my postcard to the house I vacated seven years ago.  To be fair, she was suffering from a wicked case of jet lag when she wrote me from Paris last month.  Still, it was a strange mistake and I wondered what God was up too. No time to swim in the pool of self-pity however, I rang the doorbell, said hello and within a few moments I was in my former back yard chatting about trees, neighbors and garden projects.  

As the conversation moves back inside, we sink into chairs and deeper heart issues.  One of the joys of talking to mature Christians is they can listen to a story of loss with grace.  Chances are strong they have faced something similar.  We passed the time easily, sharing our victories and losses, bragging on God for the marvelous way He came through when no human help was accessible.  This couple's story was every bit as harrowing as my own.  They too were familiar with a season of loss, death and financial uncertainty.  It was kind of nice, I felt no pressure to put a faith spin on my story. Everyone in the room knew that Jesus leads his people into some dark valleys.  When he does, your story becomes inexplicable.  It’s too complicated, too confusing and too complex to share with others.  All that you have at the end of the journey is a trail of bible verses and used tissues.  Those who have traveled the chasm between despair and hope never forget the trip and can converse easily with those making the journey.  

After I had taken up too much of their precious time, I excused myself to my car.  Just as I was walking down the driveway, my old neighbor appeared on her porch for a smoke break.  I smiled.  She looked the same as I had last seen her, cigarette in her right hand, left arm crossed under her chest.  Beautiful, her eyes looked tired, the telltale sign of having young children.  Hers wasn’t an easy life.  Her first child had special needs and it had taxed her marriage in the early years.  She was alone and struggling, so we had many conversations back when I lived across the street. 

Seven years ago, our last conversation had been a goodbye.  A crisis had meant my husband and I had 10 days to pack up a decade of living and leave the country.  My anxiety was high and for some reason I struggled over whether to give her a ridiculously expensive bike I had or whether it was better stewardship to try sell it. I decided that because my future was uncertain, it made more sense to sow into God’s economy and gift the bike.  It was a child’s tricycle with a parent handle and sunshade, super fancy and upscale.  It had been given to me, and it seemed smart to pass it on because it afforded her son a mobility he didn’t possess.  I felt a bit silly, but I gave it to her anyway.  It was one of the last things I did before closing up our home and setting out into the proverbial desert.

I sighed and walked across the street.  Would she remember me? She waved hello and we had a brief exchange.  I got a rundown on the children and her family.  She asked questions and got an update before she turned to go inside to tend her littles.  She stopped and faced me again.  “I have to tell you…to say thank you again for the bike you gave us when you moved.  It has been such a wonderful gift.  We’ve used it over and over again.  I've thought of you.  I even take it camping.  I’ve used it for my son and the kids I take care of.  It was just the greatest present.  I just had to say thank you again.”  With a wave, she was gone, and I was left speechless.

I said my goodbyes to the couple and got into my car, wayward postcards in hand.  As I arrived home, I sat in my parking space for a while.  I realized with surprise I wasn’t feeling shattered.  I had just survived a visit to my place of loss.  Moreover, I had come away with thoughts to munch on.

-When I was suffering there were others in my community who were going through similar situations.  I wasn’t the only person hurting and questioning God’s purposes.

-In my place of brokenness, I had inadvertently blessed someone by choosing generosity over fear.  

-God was continually meeting needs even though I couldn’t understand His plan.  

-As I keep looking for the Lord, He shows up in the strangest places.  Even my friend’s misdirected mail was a weird opportunity to step out, testify and be blessed.

So I am thinking and praying for you my friend, especially if you are struggling to move on from loss.  I pray for the courage to follow the Lord if he walks you back to where you were wounded.  That you will be given the grace to testify to His goodness, even though you still bear the scars.  And I pray that in your faithfulness, you will come away with a blessing and a heart full of good news.

Have courage this week.  

xoxKaren   

Eighteen Chairs

Eighteen chairs seemed like an awful lot, so I counted three times to make sure.  The girls joined in, walking from room to room shouting out a number for each chair they found.  They squealed in delight when they opened a closet only to find another chair or two hidden behind the door.  “Yep Mum!  There really are 18.  Isn’t that impressive?”  “Absolutely!” I shouted back.  “What did they do with them all?”  My youngest asked, her brow furrowing.  “Have people over I think,” her sister replied.  “A whole bunch of people.” I expect there are many homes with far more than eighteen chairs.  However these chairs furnished a ground floor apartment that was no more than 900 square feet. Subtract a bathroom and kitchen from that space allotment and eighteen seating spaces became more impressive.  

The apartment was modest and unassuming much like the couple who had previously lived there.  Eighty’s wall paper graced the dining area and the décor tended towards vintage.  But on certain evenings, all the chairs were filled as this gracious couple hosted a prayer meeting in their building.  Friends and family would fill the little flat and take their seats to pray.  When I first entered their space I wept, the presence of the Lord more evident in that humble home than churches I had visited.  In the Lord’s providence and my desperation, I came to live in their space after they had died and graduated heavenward.  I can’t honestly say that I remember a great deal from that time.  Life was such a struggle, I have put those days behind a curtain in my mind and I don’t poke around there if I can help it.  They have been left to age like wine in a cellar.  I’m hoping the passage of time will enrich my understanding and cause me to appreciate their value.  The eighteen chairs though, have stayed with me.  

Loss is a difficult emotion to navigate.  When something or someone important is taken away, grief is the emotional result.  Factors such as support, culture and religion can help or hinder the process.  Countless books have been written about ways to navigate this universal experience but at some point, the bereaved has to make a choice to reenter their community without their former possession.  One has to bear the badge of loss humbly and try again.  It takes courage and humility.

Summer is a delightful time for many.  The heat, lack of schedule and opportunity for outdoor adventures cause delight.  For some, it brings an element of panic as beachwear comes back into vogue.  For my friend, summer was a trial she dreaded for months.  Thinking about it caused the back of her throat to constrict and ache, hot tears flowed before words were even formed. 

The mastectomy in fall was difficult.  She had recovered though the support of family and had even accepted the term “self-care” as part of her vocabulary.  Comfy sweatshirts gave way to long sleeve shirts and as days warmed tee shirts were reintroduced with care.  The need for a swim suit though, caused such pain in her heart she swore her scar ached.  The loss throbbed in her psyche.  Somehow, she had to face the beach and her altered form.

Another man feels the sting of humiliation when he enters his church.  He steels himself as he reaches for the door, the loneliness pushed aside as he steps behind the Teflon wall in his mind.  He shakes hands and smiles as his community greets him, yet at times he is so angry he can barely speak.  The dissolution of the marriage had been public. The counselling was going well and he was certain by winter his family would reunite.  If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you why the process had faltered.  Doing everything he was told didn't yield the results he prayed for and he was left embarrassed and confused.  Holidays were closing in and his life group were going out of their way to invite him to dinners and services.  He was doing the best he knew how but after driving home from these events, he sat in his driveway and cried.  

Recovery from loss takes time and often months and years are the units of measure.  I am two years into my own restoration process and I still find myself wincing in as I struggle to move forward.  Whenever tears threaten to spill over, I focus my attention on the eighteen chairs.  This couple didn’t spend time wishing they had a bigger place to live.  They didn’t waste time fussing over what people thought of them.  They were too busy living.  When times were difficult, they prayed and when there someone in need, they invited them into their lives and added another chair.  

So I’m praying for you if loss is weighing heavy on your heart this week.  May God give you eyes for where you are headed, not where you have been.  That you might know your embarrassment is not a life sentence, it is a stage you are moving through as you seek to stand in His grace. I pray you will understand that though your loss feels colossal, God will continue to work His grace in your life so that it will shrink in the light of his glory.  More importantly, I’m praying that God will give you the ability to see those who are suffering as you have. That in your grief you might invite them to pull up a chair so that you can pray for them. 

And then I’m going to pray that you too, will need more chairs.


May God bless you richly this week,


xoxKaren