Fleeced

These sheep are happy because they do not own visa cards. 

Our thief was clearly hungry.  I’m not sure what kind of day he had but I imagine his day did not involve hard physical labor.  He worked up an appetite somehow though because when dinner time arrived, he tried to order $60 worth of Taco Bell online.  When that failed he tried Dunkin Doughnuts, a pizza joint and Chinese take-out.  No luck.  Giving up on food, he switched to merchandise to fill the Jesus-sized-cheeseburger-hole in his heart and loaded his cart with over $800 worth of goods from Bloomingdales.  At about that time several computers in the cyber sphere decided I was behaving irrationally.  They studied a few algorithms, deduced that it was unlikely I would eat $150 of take out in one evening and kicked the issue up the ladder to the fraud department.   

They in turn sent a number of alerts to my hubby’s phone to verify that I was not on the east coast suffering from low blood sugar.   After locating me on the chesterfield, my hubby and the all-powerful customer service representative terminated our visa cards and magnanimously ordered us new ones.  It all happened rather quickly.  I wasn’t even aware I had been designated, discussed and diagnosed by the time it was all over.  

Sometimes sin doesn’t take prisoners it just mows you over and keeps on going…

I wasn’t surprised my visa had been stolen, not exactly, though I spent time reviewing all my purchases to try to identify a sketchy business.  It was the brazen nature of the affair that caught me off guard.  Why I would be startled at sin I’m still not clear.  

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:10 

The above scripture isn’t hard to explain, the devil is bad, does bad things, God is life, not just keeping the life of his followers but adding abundance in the process.  The scripture is taken though from a discourse Jesus is giving regarding his followers and those who shepherd them.  More than likely he was talking to the Pharisees, the churchy folk of the day and juxtaposing his behavior to theirs.  He is the good shepherd who gives his life for his sheep.  He loves his sheepies and their care is his priority.  The Pharisees were likened to hired workers who care for themselves first and will run at the first sign of trouble.  Additionally, there are those who are like wolves who damage his followers in order to harm the Good Shepherd.  Note there are only two sides in this scene, those who belong to the shepherd and those who work against him.  

As church folk, we must remember to whom our brothers and sisters belong. Much like my foodie thief, who was using a visa that was not his own, I must give careful consideration to how I treat and speak about fellow believers.  After all they belong to Jesus.  If Jesus was willing to lay down his life for his sheep, it would be wise for me to be a good sheep friend and to value those for whom he died.  This all sounds very neighborly and sensible, but if you have ever gotten into an argument with a church member, you know how easy it is to break out the sheep shears and start cutting.  

And so I’m praying for you this week, my sheep friend.  That God would bestow upon you the heart of the Good Shepherd.  That his love would move your heart to be content in his presence and overflow to those with whom you share pasture. 

Have a peace filled week,

xoxKaren 

Tools of the Trade

 The world can be conquered with simple tools.

I’d like to make it clear I was minding my own business when he found me.  I hadn’t asked for help, because I knew what I needed to do.  “Jack” dropped off my replacement washing machine the day before and while switching it out, asked why the exhaust pipe behind the dryer wasn't cut to size.   I politely explained I had no idea and Jack proceeded to list 7 reasons why it should be adjusted.  His list was persuasive, starting with the mental health of my dryer in particular and ending with the balance of the universe in general.  After such a convincing manifesto, I vowed to adjust the dryer vent the following morning.

I did not need help.

After a merry morning of tea and toast, I putzed around until my family was busy with their own activities.  When their attention was diverted, I fled downstairs.  Knowing time was limited, I set to scooching the washing machine over in order to pull the dryer from the wall.  That part was easy.  The dryer was feeling obedient and it too, slid along the lino as I created a work space behind the appliances.  While I was there I swept and dusted because lint is an enemy that must be engaged whenever the opportunity is forced upon you.  A trip to the kitchen to find my tools and I was happily ensconced in the land of home repair, behind the dryer in the laundry room.  

I like fixing things.  So I was happy behind the dryer, loosening bolts and adjusting the exhaust pipe.  It was a nice time.  Of course every Saturday home repair job comes with a moment of hellish vexation but that is to be expected.  No plan for efficiency goes unpunished in the world of DIY.  My enemy of the hour was the worm clamp that needed to be tightened in order to hold the exhaust hose to the machine.  I like worm clamps in theory, they offer the promise of easy tightening without needing to grow extra fingers to hold the bolt but in practice those things are beasts.  They are impossible to position and after tightening them for 40 minutes, you find them in the wrong place and need to unscrew the critters and start again.  However, I did not need help. 

I was therefore, surprised when my husband burst upon the scene and asked me (somewhat enthusiastically) what I was doing.  Now, sometimes questions strike me as rhetorical and in all honesty, identifying rhetorical questions is not my strength.  Which is probably why about 3 answers jumped immediately to my mind but were fortunately squashed by the sentry assigned to my mouth.  I played it safe by asking what my man meant.

“I mean, what are you doing?” He said slowly, banishing all my hopes that the question was in fact rhetorical.
“I … am … fixing … the … dryer … hose.”  I replied in turn, showing respectfully that I too, was being literal.
He wasn’t buying it.  I filled him in on Jack’s recommendations starting with the dryer mental health plan and ending with the polar bears.  My hubby rolled his eyes and turned to leave when he spied my tools behind the dryer.  “What tools are you using?” He asked in a mildly screamy way.   Refusing to be daunted by the blinding realization that I was fixing the dryer with kitchen utensils I stood my ground. 
“Tin snips?” He looked at me in amazement.
“Bread knife!” I countered.  As the look of incredulity took hold I quickly picked up my kitchen scissors, “Plan B!” I shouted.
“It’s metal,” he tried explaining.
"It’s tin foil!” I attacked, bending the extra dryer pipe to display its flimsiness.
“Screwdriver?” He asked as if pleading for mercy.
“Butter knife….” I sing songed, holding up a very sturdy specimen of a butter knife, not the slightest bit sharp and very good at moving in circles.

I smiled proudly.

He turned on his heel and left.

My victory complete, I said a little prayer that I wouldn’t maim myself with the bread knife and set to finishing my project.  My victory would not be as sweet if my hubby had to take me to the emergency room. 

It wasn’t until later in the afternoon I realized my guys’ point: I fixed the dryer without visiting the toolbox.  Though it is desperately old school, I used my familiar tools, kitchen things, to meet the needs I faced.  Embarrassing but true, why use tin snips when I have a 20 year old bread knife right in front of me?  We use the tools we are given.  Have you ever noticed that some of your friends have ministries, or Jesus work, they do with their lives? 

Two girlfriends come to mind.  The first is ridiculously practical: task completion, one foot in front of the other is her gift.  Which is why, at any given time, she has befriended women who are devastated by divorce.  With patience, she sits at kitchen tables, listening to broken hearts and then sets to moving boxes, cleaning garages or delivering paperwork.  She hasn’t become a certified social worker, she uses the time and resources she has putting women on their feet again.

The second collects waifs and strays.  Her home is a safe place for Christian kids who have messy lives.   If you think Christian lives aren’t messy, you might need to reread some bible stories.  In considering her latest furniture purchases, she chose couches that could double as beds because inevitably there will a teen body that comes for a night but stays for a weekend.  Her ability to support kids while honoring their parents is god given.

When I was younger, I used to compare my life to others wondering why I didn’t do the amazing things my friends were doing.  Now I’m older one of the blessings I enjoy is recognizing the many ways people contribute to their communities.  One woman visits families in hospitals another works with 20 somethings.  Though the work may be different in size or scope, it is significant work that effects real change. There are few things that surpass investing in the lives of others. 

I hope this note doesn’t find you discouraged my friend, thinking that you aren’t doing enough for the kingdom if all you can do is drop off extra soup at a sick friends.  Sometimes, amazing life change happens over a cup of coffee and a Kleenex box.  We serve a God who can pack big meaning into little things.  He loves to hide victory in human weakness and simple faith.

So pick up your tools and get to it.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

On Loss and Monsters

Hello Friend!

I know it’s been forever, I’m sorry.  I wish you knew how many times I’ve sat down at my computer and written something, only to give up three hours later.  Writer’s block is real.  In order to fight back, I have declared a pajama day.   I’m sitting in bed with my computer determined to finish a letter.  My phone is beside me and with it, I’m texting family members asking for things: tea, tissues, lunch, you name it.   My goal is to see if I can stay here the entire day.  My family is sympathetic because I am on my second cold this month and I’m entirely pathetic.  My head is aching, my eyes are watering and my nose is running.   I may or may not have a fever, my liver needs detoxification and after running through the field of self-diagnosis, I have decided I am deficient in several vitamins and or key minerals.  

Are you convinced?

Truth? 

I’ve been battling loss.  Not the cataclysmic kind that overwhelms your front door and leaves you broken and cold, I haven’t been there recently for which I am thankful.  No, this is the kind of loss that peers around corners and drags your attention downward.  Just when you manage to place your eyes on the road ahead, it calls your name and you are left talking to yourself, trying to pray the blues away with half formed sentences and thoughts you can’t resolve.  At those moments, it seems my life has dissolved into christianese vomit, as I try to pray/rebuke/rejoice/ myself into a better headspace.  It’s tiring.

I felt I had gained equilibrium after a rough January, until I got a text from my girlfriend saying her cat was allergic to kangaroo.  Yep.  Kangaroo.  Go figure.  Her cat has been sick for ages, so in a desperate attempt to figure out what was wrong with the little duffer they got him allergy tested.  Turns out, for vast sums of money you can learn not to let your cat gnaw on the extremities of any marsupial from the family Macropodidae. 

It was about then I decided the world was getting weird.  No wait!  That’s not quite true.  It was the trip to the beach that cinched it.  When the sun peaks out of the Seattle clouds, all the sensible folk head outdoors.  This afternoon found us walking on the beach when my husband noticed something strange.  “Look at the people walking by,” he whispered.  “They are all looking at their phones.”  “No they are not.” I whispered back and set to observing the oncoming pedestrian hordes.  Darn if it my guy wasn’t correct.  Almost everyone walking toward us, with the exception of the over 60’s set, were holding their phones out staring at them rather than the people they were with.  It was odd.  Eavesdropping lead us to conclude people were busy catching monsters in their phones as they strolled the sea side. 

If that last sentence didn’t strike you as odd, you might as well stop reading. 

Loss is a bit of a monster.  It takes a swipe at your psyche and leaves you defeated, missing something you formerly enjoyed.  It’s hard to fight too, because talking it over with someone doesn’t guarantee it won’t come back and hurt you again.  Just when you manage to wrestle the beast into submission, it hits you from another direction. 

In truth, sometimes when we are experiencing loss we need to stop fighting, what is really need is comfort. 

Monster: an imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening

Comfort: the easing or alleviation of a person's feelings of grief or distress

It’s the application of appropriate comfort that’s the tricky part.  In order to catch a monster you need to be able to describe the critter.  This is most effective when done with another person.  Though a bowl of ice cream might distract you from a monster for a season, no amount of brain freeze can keep them away forever.  It’s hard to confess you are struggling but it is even harder to struggle alone. 

Yet struggle alone we do.  The difficulty is we are more likely to engage in distraction than seeking comfort.  When faced with the death of a beautiful family friend, I binged watched an entire season of Grantchester before I faced my grief and wrote the family a letter of condolence.  I sobbed my way through the writing, sparing no expense on time as I struggled to find the words that would honour such a wonderful soul.  By the time I had finished, death was not the horrid specter that smashed into the pillars of childhood memory; it was the means by which a beloved saint got to go home.  The monster of loss was transformed as comfort was applied. 

My dear friend, are you fighting with monsters today?  Are there thoughts in your head that are making you cower?  Are you feeling the effects of loss and need some comfort?  Blessedly, we have a God who is committed to comforting broken hearts. 

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.  2 Cor 1:3–4

The pain of loss is real; don’t let it grow in the dark of secrecy.  Might I encourage you to fight a monster by phoning a friend? Break out a journal, write a letter, make a connection and describe your battle.  Allow someone to come alongside your heart and do the little they can.  Get into scripture, read promises and the names of God and see if that doesn’t help turn the tide. 

Loss washes up on every shore at some point but please don’t leave the beach, stay and invite a friend. 

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

P.S. thank you Nicole for the photo, weirdowithacamera.blogspot.com