Questions and Answers

It is the 18th of August.  So tomorrow will mark one year since my dear friend Matt Auten died.  A year ago today, he was still playing with his two boys at the beach, and he probably smooched his lovely wife Amy.  But that was a year ago, and much grieving has followed.

I'd like to share a glimpse of that process with you.

Not long ago, my pastor spoke on Psalm 121.

He taught about how the Lord watches over us, and keeps us from all harm, and I thought, that's just not true.  I sat and brooded on this until I wanted to scream.  I thought about Amy and the boys and how this sermon would sound to their ears.  I thought of my friend John Hall, who was sitting just a few rows over from me, and how his brother Rob was killed on a missions trip when the compressor he was working on blew up, leaving his wife and kids to fend for themselves in an African village.  I wondered how he processes this.  (And I may still ask him.)  I felt like muttering bullshit bullshit bullshit, but I just sat... and stewed.

At the end of the sermon, our pastor wrapped up by talking about how safe we are in God's hands, and then we stood to sing, and I just stood there with my hands on the chair in front of me, but I don't know if I was holding on to it for dear life, or if I was trying to break it.

I wanted to throw that chair.  I wanted an answer.  Why is this Psalm even in the Bible?  It shouldn't even be in there!  Explain this!

Then something happened.  I felt arms around me and they weren't Joanne's.  Big, strong, literal arms.  Someone was hugging me.  I looked over my shoulder to see a guy I'll call Pete.  Pete is probably the biggest guy in our church; a 6'4" contractor, and he is hugging me from behind.  He says, "I just felt like I was supposed to do that."  I thanked him, and he patted my shoulder and walked away.

Pete is not my friend.  He does not know me.  I have probably only spoken to him two or three times, ever.   And this kind of random hugging thing does not happen in my church.

I smiled through the tears in my eyes as I thought, God, aren't you funny.  You don't answer my questions.  You do not explain.  You simply remind me of Your presence.  And You choose the biggest arms in church to deliver your message.

I feel like I am only left with echoes of Job's response, and I place my hand over my mouth.

Questions With Answers, by Matt Auten

Matt has a beautiful song, 
Questions With Answers, and it seems to me, that at the time Matt wrote it, that God was giving him similar answers.

Matt, I miss you my friend.

Your story has ended, but mine continues, yet your threads are still weaving their way through mine, and I am grateful for that.

Your life was a gift and your death was and is a wound in my life and both continue to bless and hurt and shape me.

"Our wounds are part of who we are
And there is nothing left to chance
And pain's the pen that writes the songs
And they call us forth
... to dance." 
     - Michael Card

Thoughts on Weird Moles and Warriors

Deep breaths and deep knee bends were my father’s cure for sickness. What it really did was take your mind off your upset tummy and help you think about something else.  As a child I would be touching my toes in tears as my father would remind me to do just one more.  His knowing presence calmed me; that I would be okay as I exhaled.  Even if I had to lunge to the bathroom, eventually I would be okay, and this too would pass.

That morning, and the days before my appointment to see the specialist for the moles on my foot, I did a lot of deep breathing.  I cried a lot and I listened to music a lot more than I have in a while.  Worship before battle.  My mind was in a battle and I knew it.  I would join in with Kari Jobe's "Forever" as I washed dishes, clinging to the sink, knowing the Lamb has overcome.

In that particular worship session, God reminded me of a picture that I was familiar with.  This, interesting enough, would be my third time watching this same home movie.  It was a knight on a horse charging forth in battle.  I could see things being cut down like one would swipe the heads off dandelions with the fluff spraying around.  The path was straight and the knight determined.  I also knew there were others following after; almost tethered to the rider. Forward forward forward heaving with battle, and joy. The warrior finally removed its armour and to my amazement once again, it was me.

Andrew came with me to my appointment, which I appreciated so very much.  His presence was calming as we travelled up in the elevator and as we walked to doctor’s office.  It was surreal. 

The dermatologist was young; a young woman with a kind face.  She knew about my moles and we discussed why my doctor had sent me, and the reason for such alarm with the placement of these moles.  "Let's take a look" she said.  I didn't want a biopsy.  I wanted the news to be so dull that it wouldn't even be needed.  That is how I was praying, and I knew that is what others were praying as well.

“These look fine" as she put her fancy magnifying glass away.  I let out my breath and broke into tears. Thank you thank you thank you.  "We won't need to biopsy these." "Are you sure?" I stammered.  "Yup.  I am sure and I will tell you why."  The kind young doctor then informed us of the abcde of moles and importance of a yearly check-up because melanoma is on the rise.  I did my best to stay present but I was having trouble knowing that I had a new lease at life. 

Yes, this may sound drastic for some, but the journey of waiting, then going, and then hearing her say that it wasn't cancer!!!   That was such a battle for me.  All I can speak of is my journey through what I feared.  It sounds simple and probably trite but I found myself examining my life and stumbling forward.  Thank you for your prayers for my preparation for this journey of mine to this point.  I am certain there will be other roads of preparation for me, and my journey continues, bumps and dark corners and all.  Yet!  There are brilliant moments of beauty.  Deep breaths refocusing your vision and heart to what matters.  Jesus, there in those moments.  At times I did not see Him and I felt that I did not hear Him but I clung to the truth that He is with me always.

The Lamb has overcome.  If I had to have a biopsy, He has overcome.  If it went the way I feared, He has overcome.  Forever He is gloried.  Forever He is lifted high. Forever He is risen.  He is alive.

Thank you for your prayers from the bottom of my heart right down to my deep knee bends.

Joanne

Rachel, Bruce, and Jimmy

You've heard about them.  Perhaps too much, and I should just leave it be.  But I will blame Jimmy Fallon.

I won’t call this a rant, and will try to keep it to an observation… an observation that was crystallized in a moment of Jimmy’s monologue on The Tonight Show.

We know the stories.  Bruce Jenner is going through the transition of becoming Caitlyn Jenner, and the media is celebrating his transgender process as courage and authenticity.

Rachel Dolezal, president of the NAACP in Spokane Washington, was found to be white, and not of mixed African American heritage, as she had led people to believe.  And the media is tearing her apart as a fraud.

In Journey Canada, we teach about the current popular mindset of Essentialism... that if you feel something, it is a part of your essence.   This mentality says that to be an authentic person, and true to your essence, you should act on those feelings.  If you feel attracted to the same gender, then that is who you are, you are gay, and you should act on those feelings.  If you feel you are the wrong gender, then you are, and you should change it.  It is even seen as a moral obligation, and if you do not act on those feelings, then you are not being true to who you really are.

This mindset is dangerous and precarious.  Feelings are fickle.  Feelings change.

The observation I want to make is an obvious one.  Why is Bruce Jenner championed as an icon for authenticity, while Rachel Dolezal is shamed as a charlatan?

As I said, I blame Jimmy Fallon for making me write about this.  Joanne and I thoroughly enjoy Jimmy, and one night, in his opening monologue, he made the following joke:

“Rachel Dolezal stepped down from her position as president of an NAACP chapter after it was revealed that she was a white woman pretending to be black. Now her brother says he knew about it but she asked him not to blow her cover. Unfortunately, her cover had already been blown by God when he made her a blond-haired, blue-eyed white lady.” – Jimmy Fallon

This is the obvious hypocrisy in the media and our current culture.  Didn't God make Bruce Jenner a boy?  But Jimmy would never dare to make a joke about that.

Bruce feels like a woman, so our culture thinks it is a part of his essence.  So he should act on altering that.  But Rachel feels black.  She has been referred to as “Transracial.”  One news site quoted her tweet:

“I am very happy to see more people joining us #TransracialLivesMatter #WrongSkin.”

She also tweeted a picture of herself next to a picture of Caitlyn Jenner, with the caption “who are you to decide what is right for me?”

She has a point.  Why is it okay for Bruce to feel like he has the wrong genitalia, and not okay for Rachel to feel like she has the wrong skin?

Culture points at her and laughs.  Look at her!  Ask her mother!  She’s white!  But I'm sure if we were to ask Bruce Jenner’s mother, she would say that she gave birth to a boy.

There has been much talk and writing about our culture and our view of sexuality and identity.  Some have said we are on a slippery slope.  Others have said that we have slid down the slope and made camp at the base of it.  I would have to say we are leaning toward the latter.

God help us all.

Hard Week

It has been a hard week.  One definition of hard is “requiring a great deal of endurance or effort”.  I felt like I have been pushing a rope (to quote my father) which is a tough thing to do.  Realizing that most of my woes were in the material realm, I have truly tried to laugh them off. The desire to be light-hearted was there but the muscle to walk it out well... well, I have been lousy at it.  

It started with our GPS (which I love because I am greatly map challenged) being stolen in broad day light from our co-op. It then led to Beatrice’s new purple Crocs being stolen right in front of her sweet eyes as we played at the beach. Followed by a parking ticket after I emerged from a prayer meeting, (I did laugh out loud at that one then shook my fists).  A trip to the walk in clinic for an aching jaw which then proceeded to me getting a referral to a dermatologist for a biopsy for 2  new unassuming moles on the bottom of  my toes.   Well that one started to press on me.  Hard.  Another hard, googling “what do new moles on your feet mean?” Yikes!!!

Fear was awakening in me again.  It has been a sleeping giant in my life for most of my days.  He was roaring loudly. Dread was dragging me under.  The slippery slope for me was fast approaching.

The next hit (that sent me into a pit of self-loathing) was when I opened up my monthly Master card statement.  Usually this doesn't freak me out.  Since I have started my new job (God’s miracle for Joanne at Harmony Dental Studio)  Andrew and I have committed to not using our credit cards. We are taking up the daunting challenge to get out of debt.  Our cards have been for special cases only.  I use mine at Great Canadian superstore to get the points which at Christmas time I use to buy all my Christmas goodies and baking needs.  Back to the point. I open the bill and almost fall over.  I felt ill, truly ill.  Someone had gone shopping on my card! 

To shorten this story my card was no longer in my wallet and someone had access to my pin (how, I have no idea) and was taking large daily amounts of cash on my card.  The securities operator on the Mastercard hotline was of very little help to me due to the reason that the thief had my card and my pin and it seemed unlikely that the fraudulent spending would be reversed.  I sat on the phone with this stranger and openly wept.  $8400 was something my husband and I could not pay back.  It wasn't me.  I did not do this.   I felt abandoned and violated.  I questioned the whys, which are never helpful. Was this pay back time for me?  I felt out of control and instead of  praying for guidance and taking deep breathes and doing knee bends and trying to speak truth, I fled on my bike and cried and sweated out to God.

I wish I could report that all was lifted as I worked my way through the gravel dike pathways but it didn't.  I did however return to one of my favourite Psalms, number 18.  Verse 6.  “In my distress I called upon the Lord and cried to my God. He heard my voice out of his temple and my cry came before Him into His very ears.  Verse 16 He reached from on high, He took me and drew me out of many waters (in the message version it states sea of hate)and He delivered me from my strong enemy and from those who hated and abhorred me, for they were too strong for me, And then verse18 they confronted and came upon me in the day of my calamity , but the Lord was my stay and my support  He brought me forth also into spacious places. He was delivering me because He was pleased with me and delighted in me.“

He was and IS pleased with me.  He delights in me.  Does yucky stuff like stolen Crocs and parking tickets, biopsies and theft happen?  Sadly yes.  Will justice reign on planet earth?  Maybe not.  But I will choose to declare You Lord are my Rock and my Fortress and my deliverer. You are my keen and firm strength and my shield. The horn of my salvation and my high tower.

I will still ask for mercy and abundance of health as I obediently go to my doctor appointment for the biopsy on Friday July 3^rd at 9:15am.  I pray that these moles or just that, moles and nothing more.  I pray that the charges for our card will get fully 100% covered and that our family does not have to carry the weight of this bill.  I pray that my faith would increase, the truth would prevail in my heart and mind, and that I would boldly speak the word of God to myself and let that ooze onto the lives of my children.  That I would walk my journey well, whatever it looks like, and that I would live as someone who knows that the creator of the universe delights in her.

And I pray I would forgive the person who stole our GPS and that I would learn to read a map J. Thank you God that north is mountains  and west is water  the south is the USA and east is where my beloved family and friends are.  May you know His goodness and love for you personally this summer.

Joanne

A CHRISTMAS VERSION OF 1 CORINTHIANS 13

One of our Aunts sent this to us, and we thought it was worth passing on.

 A CHRISTMAS VERSION OF 1 CORINTHIANS 13

If I decorate my house perfectly with plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights and shiny balls, but do not show love, I'm just another decorator.

If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love, I'm just another cook.

If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home, and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love, it profits me nothing.

If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of   holiday parties and sing in the choir's cantata but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the point.

Love stops the cooking to hug the child.

Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.




Love is kind, though harried and tired.

Love doesn't envy another's home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.

 Love doesn't yell at the kids to get out of the way, but is thankful they are there to be in the way.

 Love doesn't give only to those who are able to give in return but rejoices in giving to those who can't.

 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 Love never fails.

Video games will break, pearl necklaces will be lost, golf clubs will rust,

 but giving the gift of love will endure.

The joy of sadness

I work with many men who are struggling with sexual addictions.  A few of them are accountable to me.  We text each other, encourage each other and pray for one another.

I wanted to share a quick story about one of them.  I'll call him Elmer.

Elmer has recently moved, and he's been having a hard time with the move because he's lost many friends over the distance.  He sent me a text a few weeks ago that said, "I am missing my church and my friends, and I realize I am feeling sad."

Yeah... so?  You might say.

Let me tell you why this is significant.  Most guys, as they start to be accountable about addictive sin patterns in their lives, will ask for prayer and support right at the moment they are struggling with temptation.  Or worse, after they have given in.

But Elmer was starting to grasp how it works.  To recognize the feeling, to talk to someone about it, and to invite Jesus into it, instead of just numbing it.

I was reminded of this as I was walking to the train and saw this sign.  I snapped this picture of it, and I now know it's a song lyric, but it made me really think of the spiritual significance of this.

The only joy of sadness is that we can feel it.  And if we just medicate it, if we just numb our emotional pain, we won't even know why it was there.

Three cheers for Elmer, who is recognizing long-neglected feelings, instead of numbing them.

Matt

My friend Matt died.  He was helping a panicking child one moment and dead in the water the next.  It was a little over two months ago.  He was one of my very best friends.  And I don’t have many friends.

To say that Matt was a lifeline for me would be an overstatement.  But I will say he was my tin can on a string.

My conversations with Matt were usually in extremes.  They were either completely superficial, (I mean down-right silly, as in doing the dialogue from an entire Monty Python sketch) or it was deep.  There was rarely much in between, other than work-related stuff.  We would talk about hope and despair and frustration and longings and where-is-God-anyway.  And then we would come up for air and talk about birds, books, or the ministry of silly walks and gumby brain specialists.
*All italics in this post are Matt's lyrics.*

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Is there reason for all we push through?

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I miss both of those modes more than I can say.  I don’t have any one that I can be as silly with as I was with Matt Auten.  I don’t have any one that I can have heart-wrenching conversations with like I could with Matt Auten.  And so my life seems to have lost some of the breadth in its spectrum.  All the colours just aren’t there.

I say Matt was a tin can on a string for me because of the way his music affected me.  He was on my rotation of favourites on my hot-pink-ipod-and-I’m-OK-with-that, and so I would listen to him on the bus or train on the way to work.  I would hear him almost every day, and I would say increasingly so in this last year, maybe because I have been feeling lonely.

=================================

Did you put your trust in this broken cup?

It’s not in this vessel

It’s all in the light that fills it up

=================================

As I listened to Matt’s music, it was like I was putting that tin can up to my ear, and through the string, and through the music, Matt would put the other can on his chest, and I could hear his heart.  And that heart, like our conversations, would point me to the deeper things, and the still point in a topsy-turvy world.

I remember when Matt wrote his first song.  We were at Montreat, and he came in our room and told us “I think I just wrote my first song” and then played it.  It was short; just a chorus, I think.  It was called “A Cup of Soup on a Rainy Day.”  I asked Matt about this years later, and he had forgotten it… which is a shame, because I still think of it every time I have a cup of soup on a rainy day.

One thing I love about music (and art in general) is how the Holy Spirit uses it.  One time I was listening to Matt’s song “Dear Samuel,” and I had no idea who “Samuel” was or who he wrote it for, but at that moment, it became about me.  It was at a time when I had been trying to fill my life with stuff, especially work, and a failed relationship.  I remember sitting alone in my apartment, with his music playing…

Finally lonely, aren’t you

You tried so hard to fill your life without me

Finally broken, aren’t you

You see you weren’t made to be whole without me

And I sobbed.  That was me.  And I felt like God sat there with me on my carpet next to the CD player and put his arm around me, and let Matt’s lyrics do his whispering…

Now is the time to climb where I teach you

One move at a time, stay where I can reach you

Believe me my child, there is nothing to choose

You have nothing at all… but your whole self to lose

It wasn’t until later that he told me he wrote it for Mark Twain.  But God had other plans for it that night.  I’m sure there are many others who have experienced something similar.

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There's no warmth in truth without something solid to burn

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Matt actually did write one song about me.  When he first told me, it was in an apologetic sort of way, because it was a song about being passed over in the areas of love… ok, it was a song about being dumped, over and over again.  Here I had hoped that if I ever inspired a song, it would be about passion for life, or chasing dreams…  No, not me, this song was about striking out repeatedly in the girlfriend department.  Now, as a happily married man of ten years, I can look back on those lyrics and smile and breathe a sigh of relief that none of those relationships worked out, but at the time, I could only appreciate the song as a song, and sigh.

The last line in the chorus says, “I pray that I'll have the will to be, nestled in Jesus’ sovereignty.”

I guess after all these years, the situation has changed, but that is still my prayer.  As I wrestle with the story of his drowning or whatever happened, as my heart breaks for Amy, and for Graham, and for Ben, as my tears scream out for understanding (just where were the f***ing angels anyway?)  

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You say do without hope, 

take a chance on a fall, 

go in deeper and be made whole

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Now the string is cut.

But I can still hold that tin can up to my ear

And his music echoes

Like crashing waves in a sea shell

Calling me

Still, after all these years

Praying that I'll have the will to be

Nestled in Jesus’ sovereignty.