Dog-eared Pages

Edmond Dantes:  "I don't believe in God,"
        
Abbe Faria:  "It doesn't matter.
                     He believes in you.”

                         --Alexandre Dumas
                            The Count of Monte Cristo
                            (2002 movie)

If you have not seen this movie,
you have missed a classic.

How a Boy on a Bike Won the Nobel Prize

The weather is warming up, and so are tempers in the city.  Over last weekend in Chicago alone, eighteen people were shot.  It is remarkable that could happen in a single weekend, and far more remarkable that it didn't even make the national news.

Every time I open up the news, I cringe.  Violence,shootings and bombings are no longer something rare, but where today. 

I am weary and distressed about the daily violence, the taking of human life.  Even Jesus said, that is enough.  When one of His disciples struck off the ear of the high priest, Jesus said, "No more of this!"  And He touched his ear and healed him.

If we want things to change, we need to do something different.  It doesn't have to be that way.  There are better responses to resolving conflict than shooting people.  We just need to teach it, engrave it on our hearts, and do it. 

I was overjoyed this week to read Desmond and the Very Mean Word, a children's story based on a childhood incident from the author, Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

The short tale introduces children to a different language in the face of confrontation, not that of violence but of forgiveness. The story increases a child's moral imagination -- how different things can be.

In the story, Desmond is stirred to revenge in the midst of an on-going confrontation with a gang of boys.  The priest in the book advises young Desmond, "When you forgive someone, you free yourself from what they have said or done." Desmond had a hard choice to make.

And in that freedom, the situation changes, because we see it through different eyes. 

I have observed young children repeat the exact words they hear in stories.  I have seen kids copy behavior from what they see in movies and tv shows.  This story shows how real life can look different.

The newly-released book is not just a made-up story, ending with a nice artificially-sweetened platitude.  The actual incident changed the course of the author's life.  And as a result, for working toward equality, justice and peace in his native South Africa, Desmond was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984.

Our children need role models for good, and new ideas in how to live responsibly.  Tell your kids, "Make the headlines for goodness sake."  This story is a good place to start.  And the beginning of a great conversation with them.

Not the way it ought to be

I was standing in a store yesterday, women chatting around me, going about their day.  And on the far wall was a television, pictures of the Oklahoma tornado scrolling across the screen, the devastation as far as the horizon and reporters interviewing survivors.  The sound was turned on, but the voices were drowned out by the dailyness of what was going on around me. Please, I wanted to say, I want to hear this.

This morning, I awoke to the sound of pounding rain, feeling the heaviness of a new day for those who did not sleep in their own beds last night, for those whose homes have been swept away, and for those who have lost even more, a father who lost his little girl and who only last year lost his wife to illness.  My heart aches for them.

"Please, LORD, let survivors yet be found today," I prayed.  "Grant the crews success in finding them."

We live in a great mystery of how a tornado can suddenly appear on a clear blue day and of how some are spared and others not.  We cannot comprehend.  But still...

Even in this, we can know the reality of God - in distress, in trouble, and when we are over our head.  He is with us, even in these mysteries we cannot possibly comprehend.  When all is said and done, in some form or another, we all come to a point when there is nothing left to hold onto but God Himself.  It is why Scripture repeats over and over again, The LORD is my refuge and my strength.  We need Him.  We cannot live this life alone.  He never intended us to.

Where was God when that tornado hit?  He was right there, hunkering down with desperate people in those bathtubs and in the storm shelters, covering them with His angels, some even in the form of teachers.   

And some, God carried Home that day.

Our help is in the name of the LORD,
      who made heaven and earth.

                              Psalm 124.8

The landscape of this Oklahoma town has been altered.   Lives have been changed forever.  And these strong pioneering people will pick up the pieces of their lives in incredible ways.

And through the hardship, God will redeem.  I have often thought that in the wake of such tragedy, God responds and uses it for tremendous good... in ways deeper than we can understand.

I continue to hear reporters talk about incredible tales of survival that are emerging from the wreckage.  This is not the end of the story, but only the beginning.

God will redeem.

Another Set of Eyes

I grew up in a stubborn German home where the theme song appeared to be, "You Can't Tell Me What To Do," a tune that all too often sent the six of us right into a proverbial ditch.  My father was so stubborn that no one could give him any advice at all.  Indeed, he would typically do the opposite, just to prove them wrong.  It's too bad.  Yes, he made his way on his own, but he could have avoided a lot of cliffs and severe detours.

The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

As an undergraduate, I shied away from what I saw as criticism in my work.  By graduate school and quite a few crater-sized potholes later, I realized that it never hurt to have another set of eyes take a look at my writing, before I turned it in.  More often than not, there were inevitably enormous blunders I never saw, crevasses in my logic so big you could drive a car through, and paper-thin ideas that had no support at all.  A feeling of pride is always the first big red warning flag that something is amiss.

The blunders are still there.  Even now in my writing, even after I have gone over it carefully, I often run my writing past another set of eyes to catch the not-so-obvious mistakes and to enlarge my view.  

 Ask me questions.  Ask me a lot of questions.  That is how I learn.  

I have come to know the hard way that counsel is not criticism, nor commands, but a very helpful means to   "Have you considered this...?"   The wisest people know that they don't know it all.  They seek, listen and weigh. 

And thank you very much for alerting me to the train I didn't see.

If I mention a person in an article, speech or blogposting, whether named or nameless, I always let them read the piece, first to get their permission and to make sure I told their story right.  I am grateful for those who point out a typo in the second paragraph, or advise me that there is a big hole where the picture was supposed to appear.

And for a more complex piece of writing, I will check with more than one set of eyes.  If two out of three say that they don't get it, I know that the third person is just trying to be kind, and it is time to reconsider.  Editing is not a weakness at all, and reproof just makes me stronger. 

Seek, listen, weigh.  In work, in relationships, in decisions.  There may be, just may be, someone who knows or observes something you don't.  It may save you a huge mistake, or it just might someday, change the course of your life.

Without counsel,
     plans go wrong,
but with many advisers,
     they succeed.

                Proverbs 15.22

Never Trust A Dandelion

Remember that beautiful field of yellow flowers, last week?  Well, that idyllic vista transformed itself overnight into a barbaric army of white puffballs, already staking claim to our yard with covetous eyes.  It looks like the vacant lot is covered in snow.

For the past week, I have spent hours taking back what is ours, pulling weeds in our small yard and flower beds, clearing out the arrogant dandelions which have already set up summer camp.  A crowd is clustered along the curb like gossiping junior high girls.  Another congregation has gathered in the flower bed on the edge of the yard, as if setting up for a revival.  And dandelion spies have infiltrated and entangled themselves in the irises still struggling out of the ground.

Our yard directly borders this field, white unto harvest.  And the invasion has begun.  We have mowed a border of demarcation, the width of the lawn mower, between our lot and the field, a rather weak line of defense.  The towering dandelions are ready to engage with great defiance, preparing their catapults.

As we were walking the other evening, our new neighbor came out of her house, aghast at the condition of her own lawn.  "Where did these come from?" she asked with great surprise in her voice, pointing out a crop of unsightly weeds, scattered throughout her yard like children on a crowded playground.  We just looked to the field beyond her house, no need to waste words.  "I don't want to use chemicals," she explained, rather organically, "but even more so, I don't want to pick them out one by one.  That would take forever."

"What do you do?" she asked my husband.  Without waiting for an answer, she accused him,  "You use chemicals, don't you?"

Bill just nodded,  He had spread the protective granules, weeks ago.  She told us she had looked into organic alternatives that, apparently, do not discriminate.  They get rid of the weeds, but also kill the rest of the lawn as well.  She had talked to some lawn services, and now had finally concluded that she may just rip up her lawn and sod it.  "That would take care of it, once for all," she decided.

The neighbor on the other side approaches the invasion the old fashioned way.  Every morning before work, he scrutinizes his yard and physically removes any weeds that crept into his yard like an enemy occupation under the cover of nightfall.  They don't even stand a chance to send down roots.

Our house, even closer to the vacant lot than theirs, appears to float like an island of green in a sea of fluffy white.  For the past week, we have observed a visible blizzard of seedlings blowing past our front window like the scene of a winter storm, gathering in little drifts on the edges of our driveway, spreading weeds uncontrollably.

But we need not lay down our defenses.

I consider, as in life, how acts of righteousness change the scope of the landscape.  No matter how bleak, there is something that can be done.  An intentional kindness, an encouraging word, integrity even when no one notices, a sacrifice for the good of others, recognized or not -- these things are unstoppable, and God uses them for great good, germinating what is just and true and loving.

When weeding, I noticed that in areas that are occupied by legitimate ground cover and healthy perennials, dandelions were rare, no place left to take root.  The good has left no room at the inn.  Plant what is noble and teach our children to do the same, cultivate beauty, nurture grace, and emulate those who love beyond themselves.  Cover and protect the very ground with lovingkindness, joy, and good works, bearing fruit for seasons to come.

I need not succumb, but be willing and ready for what God puts in front of me to do this day -- to be faithful and sow righteousness, in whatever form that may take.  He will do the rest.

I planted,
Apollos watered,
but God gave the growth.

                 1 Corinthians 3.6

For every despair,
     God overcomes.
Sometimes He uses us
    to do it.

Give me eyes to see, O LORD,
ears to hear,
and Your heart
   that I may know how to respond,
trusting You
            for the outcome.

God makes the difference.