Party

We had a party last night because Daniel is turning 30 on Thursday. It was supposed to be a surprise party but I don't do surprises. By that I mean that I can't keep a big, exciting secret and I spilled the beans. Anyway, it wasn't a big party, a fancy party or a crafty party with decorations and games from Pinterest because y'all know I suck at scissors. It was low key with good barbecue, craft beer and amazing cupcakes. To fancy it up, I pulled out all my Mawmaw's glass dishes, which means there were a lot of dishes to wash this morning because we live in an old house with no dishwasher.

Perhaps I would have cursed all the dishes to be washed but as I stood at the sink with soapy hands and hot water, looking out the window at the fall afternoon, the big bare tree right outside stripped of its leaves and the woods looking a little thin as they prepare themselves for what is predicted to be a long, cold winter, I thought 'What a privilege it is to wash these dishes in this house.'

 This old house that I love so much. This old house that gave me chills the first time I walked into it and imagined our family living and breathing and loving within the old panelled walls. This old house whose floors are slanted from settling over time. This old house with its cracks and barely insulated floors that are freezing in the winter. The front door that doesn't fit that well in the door frame. The one that you have to wrestle just to lock.

What a privilege it is to have friends and family over for an unpretentious night of amazing food and friendship. What a privilege it is to watch husbands and wives enjoy each other and their children. To watch the children play and fight and cause mischief. What a privilege to watch them run around the yard, chasing the poor chickens, delighting in those birds who give us our breakfast.  What an absolute privilege it is to watch all of our friends eat and drink in our home, to have their children play with our toys and leave our house a mess. To watch new friendships and conversations rise up organically over food and drinks.

Yes, I thought all of that while I washed dishes.

I thought about how Jesus invited the twelve disciples to partake of one last meal before he died. How he turned water into wine for some already drunk party goers just because Mary asked him to. I thought about how we are invited to have parties, have meals and drinks with one another because breaking bread with new friends and old, even friends who will betray you like Judas did to Jesus, is a holy experience. I found this afternoon that washing dishes after a night where all of my friends and their families gathered is one of the holiest experiences of my life.

As the holidays approach we'll be bombarded by food, drinks, parties and gifts. Let us remember that perhaps the greatest gifts are the dishes that remain, the remnants of laughter and the conversations for in the midst of the party, Jesus is there turning something simple into something extraordinary.

I believe that God is the creator of the miraculous but I often find that the miraculous is disguised in the common.

Still Here

I haven't had anything to say in awhile for a couple of reasons: First, I only write when I feel like it and lately, I haven't felt like it. Ha. I have two classes this semester that are heavy on paper writing and it totally saps my creativity. Second, I read an essay by Jen Hatmaker titled For When I've Been an Earthquake. I read it in Nish Weiseth's bookSpeak: How Your Story Can Change the World. That was a hard, hard book for someone like me to read.

 If you've known me for any length of time, you know I am well acquainted with indignation. It might very well be my favorite emotion. Speak was a hard book because Nish Weiseth talks a lot about her own story and her own times of indignation and how those feelings don't really give others the chance to tell their own very real and very valid stories. Sarah Bessey says that our opinions are forged in the fires of our experiences. My righteous indignation hasn't made room for other's opinions. That last thing was what God whispered to me. And when you hear the voice of God whispering gentle correction through the work of one of your favorite authors who is loud and opinionated herself, it's difficult to ignore. I've often said that God knows I don't get subtlety but this time I heard the subtle in the whispers of my heart and they said I've been an earthquake.

 In her essay, Jen (I call her by her first name because in my mind we're BFF's.)  says "I’m going through a softening, finding tenderness where there was once only indignation. I’m learning a lesson on peacemaking – and I haven’t liked it so don’t imagine I’m enjoying this season. But I see that we can accomplish so much more with respectful conversation than burning everything to the ground. The collateral damage bears consideration; I will answer for it. I do not get a free pass on offensiveness simply because I fancy myself a spokesman for the marginalized."  And I sobbed.

So that's why I haven't had much to say lately. I've even found during this period that the things that used to get me worked up, no longer do. I can enter into disagreements without the feeling of my blood pressure rising or my heart racing and I can also let it go when the time has come for that. If someone doesn't agree with me, that's okay. I don't always have to be right.

Recently, there has been a headline in the news that does make my blood pressure rise; I can feel the outrage creeping in. So I am going to try really hard to exercise my self-control on this topic.

.:deep breaths:.

Fort Lauderdale, FL has become the 33rd city in this great United States of America to outlaw the public feeding of homeless persons. 

This is going to be harder than I thought. Perhaps maintaining composure is overrated?

Arnold Abbott is a 90 year old man who has been fined and could receive jail time for feeding homeless residents of Fort Lauderdale. Apparently, the parks and public places of Florida have just been overrun with people who don't have anywhere else to go. And the local government has decided that making it illegal to show compassion is the answer. Are you fucking kidding me?  They are PEOPLE, not fucking PIGEONS. You can't say "Don't feed these people and they'll go somewhere else." They don't have anywhere else to go. I mean, this is just an assumption but I'd be willing to bet if these people had somewhere nicer than a park bench to sleep, they'd be there. Who wants to sleep on a park bench? Answer: NOBODY!

Take notice, Church. While we've allowed ourselves to become divided over politics and the legality of same sex marriage, there has been a very real threat to the tenets of our faith by government officials. Y'all can argue all day long that birth control or two men who love each other and want to get married are against your religion but I am here to tell you that those tired verses that actually talk about rape and male perdastry are a scapegoat. If we spend the rest of our days allowing the Enemy to dictate the things that divide us, we will surely see the Kingdom fall.

Credit: Etsy

We are missing the forest for the trees by continuing to argue over things that will never truly be revealed to us until the day we get to ask Jesus, himself, what it all meant. Jesus taught parables and the people who wrote the Bible lived in a different time and place than we do now. But one thing that is crystal clear about the Christian faith is that we are responsible for the least of us.

There are over 250 verses in the Bible that command us to care for the poor. Ezekiel 16:49 says "This was the guilt of your sister, Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food and prosperous ease but did not aid the poor and needy." Lookinatchoo, Fort Lauderdale, FL. 

Our faith is under attack and it is not by conservatives or liberals or gays or abortionists or those who want to smoke a little weed legally. Let us say to the Enemy: We will not continue to allow this petty infighting and division. We will not become distracted with these small matters that do not matter for the man who gave us our faith, who came here to be the light in a dark world, who died so that we wouldn't have to, told us that the greatest commandment was to love God and love each other. He told us that the poor would inherit the Kingdom and that we have a duty to make sure they are not forgotten. We have done a terrible job of this so far but we are determined to do justice to the story of Jesus by standing up against this oppression of our kindness and our compassion.

Amen.