homework

Today's youth group lesson, which I was asked to teach and agreed before I could back out on grounds of unworthiness, was about forgiveness.

At the risk of sounding nauseously righteous, I usually consider myself a forgiving person; I teach teenagers - if I couldn't extend grace on a regular basis, I would be miserable. And fired, I hope. But since the advent of my best friend's personal Hell, I have felt the blackest hole gnawing through my gut whenever I think about her ex and am wondering if I'm the best person to help young people understand what it means to forgive.

The first thing the lesson recommended I do was share an experience when I had trouble forgiving someone; because my son is in the group and because I don't yet trust my emotions regarding this situation and because it's tremendously awkward when teachers cry, I chose instead to have the kids tell me what they thought defined forgiveness. I wrote their responses on the board - everything from "say 'I forgive you'" to "accept an apology" to "let it go." We talked about whether or not it's important to consider what was done, and if someone had to ask for it in order for you to extend forgiveness. And - do we have to forget after we forgive? I just kept thinking how these concepts are wrenching for me, a grown-up practicing Christian; they must thoroughly confound pre-teens who are frequently overwrought with hormones and questions and beliefs in Fairness.

I had everyone write or draw what forgiveness would look like when they gave it to someone. The pictures & words were remarkably mature, though when I asked afterward who would find it easy to do what they wrote only a few hands went up. In the end, we agreed to talk about it more next week. I told them to keep their eyes & ears & minds open to examples of when it was (and when it wasn't) easy to forgive people.

I will do the same.

graciousness

I realize that any news story has to go through some editing before it gets on the air and that means significant details are left out, important background might be missing that could help fill in and flesh out a narrative. That said, this piece I heard this morning on NPR has stuck with me all day, like a poorly swallowed pill that feels like it's still lodged in your throat.

My understanding of the situation in Haiti is limited to basically knowing the earthquake turned a struggling country into one of more desperate despair. Whenever something devastating happens - anywhere: New Orleans, Malaysia, one of my students' homes - I want to drop everything and be available to those who can use me. I want to, but I have not yet done anything particularly meaningful. I've started to think I should join an organization that is called into action when a disaster occurs; I'm much better at moving when ordered to rather than relying on my own pathetic intentions.

So I was struck this morning by the story about a group of missionaries in Haiti, apparently called by an entity one might consider quite compelling, who spent Saturday waiting to be airlifted back to Iowa. Again, my understanding is limited and maybe in order to better help the people there, others have to get out; maybe these women have been on the island for a very long time already and are no longer needed. Fine. But here is where things rankled my brain: the radio report emphasized the plight of these missionaries sweltering for 6 hours in the Haitian sun, who were finally relieved to get "ice-cold sodas" and a seat in a military cargo plane. Who were looking forward to taking a shower when finally home.

It strikes me as insensitive at best to focus on these supposed hardships - heat, waiting, no shower - when an inconceivable number of people are dead from this disaster. Thousands more are injured, homeless, grieving lost family members. The women NPR quoted praise God and the military? For a Coke and a trip home to bathe? Not that God and the military are not worthy of praise, but I am hoping somewhere on the tape are remarks about praying for the Haitians left behind in their pain, suffering, and grief. And maybe an explanation of why the missionaries are leaving now, when people might be more inclined to want some information about grace. Or better yet, an example of it.

for god so loved bad mom...

I am just going to start this post with the word blasphemy because it's fun to say, and it means exactly what I'll be talking about.

Scene: Easter Sunday; Bad Mom tardily slides into an empty seat at the back of the congregation

Act 1: Singing, standing [except me and my supportive husband], more singing, more standing/sitting, some praying

Act 2: Pastor shows clip of movie about The Resurrection wherein Mary Magdalene rushes to the tomb to find it empty then rushes to alert Peter & John who run back to see for themselves before running off to tell the other disciples while Mary cries. Then Mary sees the angels and hears a voice, presumably from "a gardener" tending a plant across the way. She responds and moves toward him but, as the story goes, cannot yet identify him as he speaks. Finally they are next to each other and Jesus reveals himself by showing his scarred hands and removing his hood.

Act 3: I silently freak out upon realizing Jesus is Desmond from LOST.

Act 4: No real idea as for the remainder of the service my brain was stuck on how hot Jesus was.

The End.

(Happy Easter!)

god bless us, everyone (except the sinners)

Because I am the Bad Mom, I feel compelled (and pressured by my nearly-heathen husband) to direct your attention to this delightful Christmas carol. [Warning to non-initiates of South Park: There are *bleeps* but it's still hilariously outrageously offensive to everyone]

Some people don't feel a real Christian would not condemn Matt Stone & Trey Parker to the fiery fires of Hell condone such so-called comedy; I say Jesus is laughing his holy *ss off - he entertained the likes of Peter & Paul, right? Feel free to discuss my salvation while I eat all the chocolate in my stocking for breakfast.

Sincerely, I am grateful for this day; I celebrate & cherish its meaning and hope others will as well.

I am thankful for my God, my family, my friends - including you.

Merry Christmas, you wonderful old blogosphere.

marriage group tonight; no time to write

In case I don't get back here after my husband & I discuss our private lives with church friends (there's a fun movie waiting to happen), I will fulfill my daily posting by offering this, a glimpse at my #3 Potential Second Husband:

Sexy, funny, smart. Who cares if his name is hard to spell?

calling out

Lately during worship (which I have come to enjoy far more than before) I have been a) singing (what?!?) and b) finding myself thinking & praying about different students. My most favorite songs are about how the imperfections of humanity are just alright with Jesus, and our population of kids (or let's say teens in general) so magnify their flaws that life - and certainly the possibility of salvation - seems crushingly difficult.

Today our pastor talked about 'calling out' the names not only of those for whom we are thankful and those who have been saved, but also of those we hope to lead to God. This speaks to me because I see so much sadness and distress in the faces (and words) of my students, it can be overwhelming. My job is to teach them creative writing and speech skills. But I can't not try to help them see some brightness in a dark world, to believe for every ugly moment they've endured, a couple better ones are waiting. Of course I do not testify in the classroom - all I have to do is behave around these kids in a way that shows God's love; we don't have to discuss why I am compassionate and understanding (even in the midst of saying "No, I will not let you leave for lunch early, but thanks for asking" or "I'll just hold your phone in this basket for the rest of class, thanks!"). My faith lets me turn over the burden of their hard times and delight in whatever connections we can make.

So I came home today prepared to write a lovely, simple post about the names I will call. And then I got news about a student who took his own life last night. All I can say is I'm calling louder now.

negotiations, weird dreams, more worship

I bargained my way out of church today, which I realize sounds quite heathen of me but the reasoning goes like this: If I am to attend church, I need to get up early enough to help get the kids ready (including a decent breakfast) and get myself showered & looking pleasant, then it is 15 minutes driving there, an hour and some minutes for the message and visiting, another 15 minutes back home (unless we stop at Home Depot or Target or somewhere else along the way for "just a minute"). So I begged out on the presumption that I would use all of that time to get done most of the chores I avoided yesterday - and no, I did not get into a negligee, pour a drink, pop a Valium OR take a nap. And I certainly did not look like the young Elizabeth Taylor. Sigh.

You might notice that I am not yet doing any of the things I told my family I would be doing while they worshipped the Lord without me. Because it's really important that I tell you about a dream I had and what I've figured it to mean. You could learn stuff from me.

Essentially, in the dream I had married a guy who looked like someone I went to high school with - disarmingly cute and sweet but kind of, well, slowish. The kind of guy who very much advanced on his looks & charm and relied on others to fill in the blanks of intellectual conversations. Such as, how to butter toast. The thing is, someone who seemed like my actual husband Stu was in the dream but we had for unknown reasons been apart, and in the meantime I needed to marry the other guy. When I thought about my slow (but sooo darling) husband, I felt sympathy for him but I also really liked the way he adored me. As I recounted this to Stu, he compared my dream relationship this way: "You mean you liked him to pet you and love you and keep you?" And the answer was YES, YES I DID. I decided what I need is more worship in my world. Worship of me. Which makes the skipping church so very much more damning.

jesus walks

I was asked to teach today's lesson for the junior high group at church. I felt honored but very nervous, because while I truly love the Lord and get the general gist of living in a pleasing way, I often feel like I'm still at the CliffsNotes stage of Christianity. So, really, young & fabulous youth pastor, you want to put ME in for this gig? It's EASTER. You know - when people who never come to church come to church. This could be a make-or-break kind of day for a bunch of families. If I screw up some points (so, which guy kissed Jesus and which one denied him? And did I really just say 'cock' in church?) or happen to mention the similarities between Christ and Darth Vader, we could lose entire neighborhoods.

But here is yet another example of how God works in us that I can share with teenagers who don't believe me anyway. I prayed hard, borrowing one of Anne Lamott's best prayers - "Help me, help me." And then I got to work reading the lessons and scripture the youth pastor e-mailed. It's not that I don't know and understand the story of Easter; it's the foundation of Christianity for Pete's sake. (Ha ha, get it? Pete? St. Peter? Nevermind...). As a teacher, it's often not the material that gets me anxious, it's the making-it-relevant-to-young people part that gets my brain pounding into a lovely headache, which I ignore until the pain causes me to shriek at my family. Go, Christian mom/teacher!

Anyhow, once I made myself a schedule (I cannot live without lists) and actually did the work I was going to ask the students to do, everything felt much better. Whenever I put together a lesson, I try to get back to the place I was at 12 - knowing a lot of facts but not understanding much, especially not getting how to move information from the classroom to my real life. How can I help these guys apply all this God-stuff to every part of their angst-ridden, Fergilicious, MySpaced-out young lives? So as I read through the questions ("How would you feel if Jesus walked next to you and you didn't recognize him?") and answered them, stuff I thought I understood suddenly made much more sense to me. I went beyond the basic 'died for our sins, yeah yeah,' attitude toward Easter to feeling more like Jesus really is someone I would want to walk with. Someone I would gladly follow, not only for the free pass into Heaven (which is great, don't get me wrong) but also because He's so frickin' smooth and smart. Good stuff. Happy Easter, really.

stand up, sit down, fight-fight-fight

Our church, without consulting me at all, changed the service format to include a 15-minute worship (translation for heathens: singing) portion at the beginning instead of having it at a separate time.

I am not opposed to singing, necessarily, and have no problem worshipping the Lord. But I'm more of a private Christian - it's taken me years to pray in front of the youth group I teach, and even then it's like speed prayer; there is often chuckling when I finish. I love talking about the Bible with my kids, and I even bought a Dave Crowder CD because of a performance at church. However, though I enjoyed listening to that song, I did not sing and dance along to it. Because I don't do that. Believe me, I've been to many concerts in my life - Prince, INXS, Three Dog Night (yes, and it was good), REM, John Mayer - and never did I behave much differently than I would when listening to their music at home. I'm just not that girl. I am not trying to judge 'that girl' at all - she is doing what she feels good about.

My point here (it's coming, wait for it) is that if a church is going to put the singing part into the regular service with the disclaimer that congregants are welcome to come late or hang back while the jamming for Jesus goes on, we latecomers or hangers-back should then be left in peace. Instead, we are cajoled away from the coffee and told to sit because the service is starting - I can respect that because it might be distracting for the musicians to spy people milling around. But then, after getting settled into a seat, we are 'invited' to stand during the music. By 'invited' I mean subtly commanded. Now it is a peer pressure situation, which I've never been keen on for various reasons I will discuss later. The musicians kindly pressuring us to stand up & join in and me physically pressuring Stu to stay sitting and, essentially, not join in. I was grateful that two others near us, who are quite involved in our church, also chose to stay seated so we didn't feel too disobedient. But I did feel obligated to look as delighted and holy as I could to make up for the fact that I wasn't on my feet swaying and singing. I imagined people around us wondering if we were somehow disabled. Or concluding we were just not as Christian as the rest of the group.

But I know for a fact (insert scandalous church story here) that raising hands and closing eyes during a song about Jesus does not make one an exemplary being. So in the end, I stopped looking around and just enjoyed the music, silently praying for the forgiveness of anyone who was judging me and my sitting status. How's that for righteous?