Life is Rich

The sights, the sounds, the smells of fall and football usher in a nostalgia that runs its course in the deepest of my veins.  Childhood memories of packing up our family van with blankets and mittens to head to the Friday night game in frigid Wyoming air flood my senses.  I once again trot across the high school parking lot by my dad, his strong, protective hand on my back.  My young fist thrusts out to receive the red stamp after he gives the cash, and my excitement mounts as we round the track to climb into the grand stands.  Friendly, chill-kissed faces of long-time friends and acquaintances greet us as we scout out the perfect bleacher spot.

The loud speaker crackles, the larger-than-life football players shift and strut on the line, and the cheerleaders sparkle under the beaming lights.  The students crowded in their own section beckon admiration and awe, and the band bedazzles me with peppy sounds and sure steps.  I soak it in and dream of being older.  The details of the sport escape me for I am taken by the environment of this Campbell County Camels football game.

The trip to the concession stand for popcorn or hot chocolate or Laffy Taffys finally arrives.  After munching and sipping and reading jokes on the wrappers, I fidget.  When the allure of the game fades, I scamper to the grassy fields around the real field and play football with my brother and friends.  As the fourth quarter expires, I begin to feel a sleepy head and inescapable cold.  I am ready to pack up our van again and head home, full on a night full of community spirit and fellowship.

Those are the good ol' days.  Those are memories to cherish.  Last night, I went to Rampart High School's homecoming.  This is the school my middle school feeds.  As I strolled to the stadium, blanket in hand, I was reliving those Wyoming childhood days all over again.  And this time, in a different era and location, I was looking at the football players, cheerleaders, and band members as a loving mentor would.  I could hardly believe the pictures of the strong and manly seniors, staring at me from the glossy program.  Many of those students I taught as little 6th grade boys in my very first year of teaching.  Time had passed and they had grown up even though I have little changed in appearance myself. 

Nostalgia of a different sort hit me then.  The sentiment of feeling that I had the privilege of teaching these students in their formative years washed over me.  I felt almost sad that they would be graduating this year.  I felt sad that I can't be close to all of my students forever, watching them grow and having dibs on each step of their lives.  It is hard to explain and it is bittersweet in such a strong way.

Nostalgia and sentimentality are glorious and yet I don't know what to do with these emotions at times.   It is almost cathartic and therapeutic for me to linger in these moments, yet I sometimes feel helpless to know how to resolve the bittersweet in mind.  Anyone human relates to this.  So, in the end, I am left with the realization of how incredible and precious life is.  I have been given a rich lot in life and I have a gracious God to thank.

What if?

The world of the hypothetical is fascinating.  I think we as humans like to entertain the world of the "what if's" even though such a place can be uncomfortable.  When watching an interview on T.V., it is interesting when a host throws a guest a hypothetical situation in hopes of hearing how he will navigate it.  Most often, the guest will refuse to enter into such mind games recognizing that it usually does no good to speak in hypothetical terms because, well, it's not reality. 

Were I able to so easily refuse this world of the abstract possible, I may save myself some brain power.  Yet, I find it is stimulating to think about what could be or what could have been.  Watching the Olympics this week has continually triggered such thoughts.   What if I had been born here, been blessed with this gift, been created with that body, been given that passion?  It is crazy and somewhat ridiculous to think about.  After all, I cannot imagine spinning once around the uneven bars, let alone propelling myself into the air to spin and twist in a fancy dismount.  I can't envision jumping once over a hurdle, let alone running at top speed at those looming obstacles.  As it stands, I am not even remotely in the realm of Olympic athleticism, as much as I would like to think I am.

There is a part of me that wants to nurse the small pain that bites in such thoughts.  The gnawing question of whether or not I have made use of my life presents itself in these musings.  How does anyone measure the worth of a life's calling, of a life's work?  As I look to start another year of teaching, I peer inward and wonder whether what I do makes any difference.  I often describe my job as a constant pouring of time and energy into a proverbial black hole.  It frustrates me that the usefulness of life cannot be determined by a scientifically accurate method.

This is where my walk with Christ proves to be a comfort once again.  Knowing that He can use all people in any sort of situation reminds me that the outward measure of success is often fallacious.  True...I don't have a Visa commercial in honor of me as do volleyball greats Misty and Kerri. While they deserve such recognition, it does not mean that my life or the life of any "average" human is less precious, valuable, or useful than theirs. 

The world of the hypothetical might be fun, but, like the interviewing guest, I need to watch how often I let myself live within that realm.  What if I learned to live fully in the reality of my life?  Now there is a hypothetical question worth pursuing.

Gettin' Schooled

For the last few days, I have been hanging out with one of my dear college friends in Clayton, MO.  Clayton is an incredibly upscale neighborhood in St. Louis.  The town is completely enchanting with rich history, gorgeous landscaping and inspiring architecture.  It should come as no surprise to me, then, that some things are a bit pricey here.

Yet, like a foolish simpleton, I didn't entertain that thought at all when I decided to drop three basic dresses off at a dry-cleaning joint nearby.  A couple of them were not clean and they were all wrinkled due to traveling in my suitcase.  Because I am planning to wear them for wedding festivities this weekend, I decided it would be best to fork over a few bucks to get the garments spruced up a bit.  

So, yesterday I walked a few blocks to the nearest cleaners and surrendered the items to the man behind the counter.  Nothing about the place gave me any hesitation, and true to the idiotic tendencies I had that day, I didn't inquire about the price.  In old-school cleaners style, there didn't seem to be any prices posted.  I wasn't worried.  In my experience, getting things dry-cleaned is not too pricey.  It's true that I don't probably do it often enough to really know the ballpark figures and I generally go to the burger joint of cleaning companies, but I just expected it to be $20 at most for all three dresses.  (Please, go ahead and laugh now if you know better).

Today, I explored the city while my friend worked (by the way, she wasn't with me yesterday when I dropped off the clothes.  Too bad because she probably could have supervised this situation.).  I had a grand but exhausting time riding the metro and walking miles up and down streets around the city.  By mid-afternoon, I was ready to head back to the apartment, so I swung by the dry cleaners.  

All seemed right until the cleaning agent spoke the total: $62!!!!!   What?!?!?  I tried not to drop my jaw when the unsuspecting man behind the counter dropped the bomb.   I was super surprised, but what could I do?  It was my fault that I had not checked into the prices beforehand.  I had no option but to give the man money and walk out the door.  Out of spite, I grabbed not one, but two candies from the counter jar as I left.  Ridiculous and unethical, I know.  The initial feelings of hurt pride and frustration quickly melted into hilarity.  I just had to shake my head and laugh at myself.  I suppose that's the most sane thing to do in a situation like that, right?  It's just money.  It's okay.  There are worse tragedies in the world.  

Just goes to show you that a girl my age can still get schooled.  All I know is I better look $62 worth of clean and pressed this weekend.  I better look mighty good. 

We just need a little John Wayne

As a pigtail-sporting child, I was mesmerized by John Wayne.  I remember watching him in a few movies and feeling admiration and intimidation at observing his no-nonsense approach.  It seemed to me like John always knew what was what.  The truth of a situation and subsequent course of action were crystal clear to him.  Forget about popular opinion!  He discerned what it would take to get rid of the bad guy and that was that!  Go get 'em, John!

The idea of absolute truth is controversial.  Mention the fact that you believe in such a thing and some people will ex-communicate you, at least in their minds.  It is not popular to have standards, especially any standards that might make others feel badly.  We wouldn't want to hurt any one's feelings!

The problem with being so overly worried about other's feelings is that there is no way to draw the line once that becomes your standard of truth-deciphering.  I mean, really!  Please don't discipline your child and tell her that touching a hot stove is dangerous because that would seriously cramp her style!

This tolerance mentality is dangerous in and of itself for obvious reasons.  Worse yet is the militant tolerance that demands that everyone else be tolerant.  It is counter intuitive and self-defeating to champion such a dictate, and it demonizes those who dare to admit that they believe in absolute truths.  Circular reasoning begins now.

Absolute truth can only really be believed if one believes in a Higher Power.  For the Christian, believing in Christ means that our views of right and wrong are based on the revelation of Scripture.   In society today, that is perhaps the most dangerous philosophy to embrace, at least to the relativistic, tolerant-preaching crowd.  How dare Christians have standards!!!

I wonder what John Wayne would think if we decided to redo his movies with a tolerance message featuring a noodly waffler of a man riding around and deferring to all but those ridiculous standards-braying cowboys.  One glance at his face and I'm guessing he wouldn't like it.  Not one bit.

The Question of the Human Condition

"No one can make himself pure by obeying laws. Jesus Christ does not give us rules and regulations— He gives us His teachings which are truths that can only be interpreted by His nature which He places within us."  ~Oswald Chambers

What is the human condition? 

Is it the desire to do right?  Is it the need to promote self?  Is it an inevitable bent toward evil?  Is it the soiled slate of a purely born life?  When all is stripped from the exterior of human existence, what lies there?

Just a few days ago, a crazed madman burst into a Denver movie theater and let a firestorm of terror and bullets rain down on the unsuspecting crowd.  What ensued reads something like a terror novel smashed onto the pages of reality in what was a senseless and no doubt demonic act.  Though the event itself lasted a short time, the grief and the questions will linger for years.

How could a human do such a thing?  How???

Then, the age-old worldview question becomes painfully relevant.  What is the human condition?

Counter intuitive though it may seem, my belief that man's condition is a naturally fallen one gives me comfort.  Comfort because it reminds me that though humans have great capacity for evil, there is One who interceded on man's behalf and made a way for us to be supernaturally cleansed.  The truth of Jesus Christ and his saving power does not lesson the grief left in the wake of heinous human acts, but it does remind me that there is an all-powerful God who can reach into human chaos and give peace and life and healing.

My prayer tonight is that every grieving soul will not look to empty and fallacious human goodness for relief and balm, but that they will look to the all-loving, supernatural power of Jesus Christ. 

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."  ~Matthew 11:28

The Deepest Root

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Finishing a good book is bittersweet.  No matter if it's fiction or non-fiction, there is a mixed emotion that accompanies the ending of a mind-stimulating read.  A few days ago, as I digested the last sentences of Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas, this feeling of rich sadness was especially keen.  I felt that I was saying goodbye to a treasure.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, simply put, was a phenomenal man.  I know he would not wish me to idolize him.  If he were alive, he would stress that Christ was the power behind anything he accomplished.  Bonhoeffer was obsessed with his relationship with Christ and, more profoundly, with being obedient to Christ.  Yet, he was not a piously abstract and isolated Christian.  To the contrary, he was a very present and concerned believer who sought to be used for good and for the glory of God at a time when doing so was not easy in his country.

The story of Bonhoeffer's life reads like a thriller.  So many aspects of his story, so intricately entwined with Nazi Germany, are beyond belief.  Yet, it is the calm assurance and action of a man so hounded by stressful and dire circumstances that presents itself as the most astoundingly consistent thread in his life.  How can someone so harried by impossible situations ever remain calm and loving?  Wouldn't he become bitter, scared, crazed, angry or suicidal like so many others of that time?  No. He had a root system that ran too deep, a spiritual grounding of faith in Christ. 

It is this hallmark of his life that has impacted me most.  It is this compelling example of his that urges me to write of this book in hopes that you will read it too.  You would not be disappointed.  Let the following passage from a sermon of his give you a glimpse into the extraordinary life and legacy that is Dietrich Bonhoeffer (found on pg. 531 of the book):

"No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward to being released from bodily existence.
Whether we are young or old makes no difference. What are twenty or thirty or fifty years in the sight of God? And which of us knows how near he or she may already be to the goal? That life only really begins when it ends here on earth, that all that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up - that is for young and old alike to think about. Why are we so afraid when we think about death? ... Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God's Word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentle; it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace.
How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world?
Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death."  

Image from: http://shatteredbygrace.wordpress.com/quotes/dietrich-bonhoeffer/

 

Where the Fire Has Been

Anyone who knows me really well knows that fire worried me greatly when I was a child.  My fear that our house would burst into flames prompted my parents to purchase a special ladder for me in the event that I had to evacuate my second-storey bedroom. It was a kind gesture by my folks to allay my anxiety and was perhaps also an attempt to lessen the number of middle-of-the-night visits I made to their room out of sheer fear.

Perhaps more comical was the angst I experienced at the thought of burning at the stake. In school, I read about different men who had died in such a fashion, and terror gripped my heart that anyone ever had to go through that.  My friends laugh about this quirky fear from my childhood (as do I), but it was no laughing matter to me when I was young.

It just so happens that I have been living in a town threatened by flames over the past week. Although I have long outgrown my irrational fear of fire, I didn't sleep so well one night this week, thinking about the flames licking down the mountain and wondering if the brave firefighters would be able to halt the affront. This week has been horrendous for many people, and yet, as in any tragedy, it has also provided an opportunity for the community to pull together and unite.  I have been immune from the property damage, but my heart breaks for those who have lost homes, memories, and more. The only thing that gives me hope when I think on a situation like this is Christ.

A few weeks ago, a pastor at Woodmen Valley Chapel referenced a story about a man and his family caught in a prairie fire. I don't know if the story is fiction or not, but the analogy is profound. The family was desperately trying to outrun a raging prairie fire, but the father knew they couldn't do it. The flames were too fast. As a last resort, he stopped to light the brush in front of him on fire. Counterintuitive though it may seem, it was actually brilliant because when the brush in front had burned to nothing, the family stood on the charred ground. The flames coming from behind then skirted them because they were standing where the fire had already been.

My pastor said that this is a picture of Christ, who took our punishment for sin and took the "fire" for us. Therefore, if we trust in Him, we can stand where the fire has already been and be unscathed by the most devestating of flames. Before any of this fire tragedy began in our area, that phrase was ringing through my head and I had already planned to somehow paint that phrase or otherwise display it in my room. It has become even more significant with the face of intense fire only miles away.

Fire is frightening, both literally and figuratively, but Christ is bigger than both forms. I will continue to pray for our community in the aftermath of this storm. The best news for any of us, no matter what the circumstance, is that Christ will walk with us through the fire, any kind of fire, if we but turn to Him.

Isaiah 43:2 -- "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."

Picture: http://www.wellsphere.com/healthy-cooking-article/faith-filled-friday/1444132

Another First

I like firsts.  I like experiencing things I've never yet met in my lifetime.  Let me tell you about the "first" I had today.

When we had a wintry, dreamy snow day a month ago, my co-worker Amanda and I decided we needed to plan a getaway for the first part of our spring break.  Mesmerized by the fluffy flakes calmly circling to the earth out my window, I giddily scoped out Keystone condos that we might reserve for our much-anticipated vacation.  We found a nice but reasonably-priced place (remember, we're teachers :)) and we committed to it, excited for skiing adventures in the mountains.

Fast forward a month to this last weekend.  Let me preface the rest of the story by saying that we have had unseasonably warm temperatures in Colorado of late.  There have been more than a few times recently when I might have felt a bit confused about what month it actually is.  Wait...is this really March?

By the time we were ready to hit the road yesterday for our spring break extravaganza, Amanda and I knew that things might be different than we envisioned them a month ago.  As we wound our way into the hills, we laughed nearly every five minutes about the fact that we didn't see a lick of snow anywhere on the piny slopes around us.  Even Pike's Peak only wore some emaciated streaks of white instead of the usual snowy covering of this time of year. 

When we arrived in Summit County, we took a leisurely stroll through Breckenridge, finding the weather balmy enough to enjoy a meal outside while folks in light jackets, shorts, and even flip-flops ambled along the sidewalk near us.  The sun pelted down a blanket of warmth as we munched on fresh chips and guac.  Wow.  We asked ourselves and others what the skiing would be like in such conditions.  I had never seen mountains so dry nor Rocky Mountain temps so inviting at this time of year.

Regardless of the bleak skiing conditions, we strapped on our gear this morning with eagerness, ready to hit the slopes no matter what.  The parking lot at the resort was nearly empty and the gravel beneath the wheels completely dry.  The hills opposite the ski slopes looked like summer terrain and dust whipped around the moisture-deprived ground.  When we finally made it to a slope, we found ourselves skidding over icy, groomed snow (as my friend Amanda affectionately terms corduroy snow) then suddenly slogging through seas of slush.  These yo-yo conditions were all over the slopes.  Wander to far from the main path and you would find yourself ejected into July with not a trace of snow to be found.

Riding up the chair lift was perhaps the most hilarious aspect of the day.  Below our skis, we gazed at completely dry ground.  The dirt floor of the mountain and the forest bed of pine needles, rocks, and wood fragments peered back at us.  Not even a remnant of snow was in sight over large patches of earth. 

It is of no wonder, then, that I saw things I have never seen while skiing like resort workers picking their way down the mountain in hiking boots, picking up litter.  Things like the biggest fake tree I've ever seen bolted into the earth right near the top of a ski lift, complete with technical equipment of some kind near the top.  I had no idea that ski slopes had fake trees.  I guess that's because they are usually covered with SNOW, not standing naked for the world to see.  The things you learn when you snow-ski in summer conditions!

After a few hours of this strange adventure, we decided to head back to our condo for some relaxation.  Please don't get me wrong:  I am by no means complaining!  The fresh air was still marvelous today and the lack of the normal crowd made me feel like I had the mountain to myself.  I still got some sun and even enjoyed a pricey mountain burger on the slopes. And as a result of crummy snow, I've had more rest and relaxation hanging out at the condo than I had planned for and it was much needed.

So, even though things are not as we dreamed a month ago, this unexpected turn in events has been a huge blessing in disguise and I am soaking up every minute of calm and hiatus.  God is good, and He knows how to give good "firsts".