I like Thanksgiving. Some of my fondest childhood memories are associated with Thanksgiving at my grandma's house. I would often go to Grandma's house early, and she'd let me help her set the table with the special dishes we would use only on Thanksgiving, along with her decorative salt and pepper shakers. We'd gather with family, eat the special foods my grandma prepared, eat in the formal dining room (a rare thing), and then spend time playing games.
I don't often like to think about being a grandma because that would suggest getting even older--and neither of my children is quite ready yet for parenting. But I hope that someday, some little one will come early to Grandma's house, help to set the table with the pretty dishes, eat the special food that she makes, and play games after the dishes are all done.
And how does that tie in with my Thanksgiving top ten? Like this:
1. I'm thankful for wonderful childhood memories of Thanksgiving at my grandma's house.
2. I'm thankful that I still have my grandma's pretty dishes, and I'm thankful that this year we'll be using them for our wonderful meal. And I'm thankful in advance that everyone is going to be incredibly careful while they use Grandma Walborn's special dishes and not a one will be broken.
3. I'm thankful to have a job.
4. I'm thankful for my family.
5. I'm thankful that my parents gave me piano lessons.
6. I'm thankful for my church and my pastor.
7. I'm thankful that our dining area faces east, so that in the morning, when we eat breakfast, we can watch the sun rise.
8. I'm thankful that we live in a neighborhood with sidewalks so that we can go on nice walks sometimes.
9. I'm thankful that I found some friends who wanted to have a book group. And I'm thankful for all of our get-togethers and all the great conversations we have.
10. I'm thankful that I have everything I need.
May you be blessed with many things to be thankful for--and with knowing the One to whom we give thanks.
11/17/09
Kicking People When They're Down, or Going Rogue on Someone's Pain
My friend and I have been throwing around the idea of writing a book about what not to say or do to people who are going through a time of crisis in their lives. While thankfully my life is relatively pain-free right now, I spent a lot of time in the nineties grieving the illnesses and deaths of my twenty-year-old sister and my thirty-five-year-old husband, so I know a little about pain and suffering. My friend has been having an extremely difficult year (an understatement) and is (unfortunately) an expert in suffering as well. I have to credit her with the subtitle for this post.
As old as history itself is the reality that we aren't always very good comforters in the body of Christ. Job's friends set a bad precedent, and we often follow their poor example--if we make any attempt at all to provide relief and comfort. Sometimes we hold back because we don't know what to say, so we don't do or say anything at all. Other times we spew cliches like "at least you have your health," "God is working this for good," or "God won't give you more than you can bear," thinking that we can somehow neutralize the bitter pill of God's providence with a syrupy sweet sentiment.
If we Christians are soldiers in a battle, why do we tend to shoot our wounded by spraying them with Hallmark-sentiment BBs? If we were in a literal battle and our comrade was gushing blood, we wouldn't try to help him by giving him jelly beans. And we would never commit the worst offense imaginable but one that happens often: abandonment. We add insult to injury, delaying recovery for the sufferer.
It is difficult to know what to say when someone tells us about a crisis he or she is experiencing. What we'd like to do for our friends or loved ones is take away the problem, but that's usually impossible. The best we can hope to accomplish is to provide some relief, but that's an important accomplishment--one that is our duty toward our brothers and sisters.
So what can we say? Unless someone comes to me asking for advice, wanting to talk through a situation, I restrict myself to the following, depending on the circumstances:
*I/We love you.
*I'm/We're praying for you (if I really am).
*Can I help you by? . . .
That last one is the key, I think. James tells us to show our faith by our works, and so if we truly see someone with a need, we'll do something about it. And because so many people are going through difficult times right now, I mean to share in future posts suggestions about what I've learned from my own experiences about what helps and what hurts.
I was thinking a few days ago about the things we say to people, and one of the favorite verses to quote is Romans 8:28, truly a beautiful promise that God will work all things for good for those He loves. I used to dread hearing this verse, even though I knew it was true. Those of us in the body of Christ are one, and we tend to forget (because we're not directly affected) that that person's job loss, the death of that person's spouse, her cancer diagnosis, their rebellious child--all of these are our sorrows too.
Is it possible that God is not just using that pain for the good of the one most directly affected but for my good as well? How can something that isn't happening directly to me work for my good? The Holy Spirit's work is often a mystery to us, but what I do know is that another's pain gives me the opportunity to show love, compassion, to be hospitable, to be a servant, to offer tangible gifts--all working for my good as I'm conformed to the image of Christ.
We need to work on being better comforters.
As old as history itself is the reality that we aren't always very good comforters in the body of Christ. Job's friends set a bad precedent, and we often follow their poor example--if we make any attempt at all to provide relief and comfort. Sometimes we hold back because we don't know what to say, so we don't do or say anything at all. Other times we spew cliches like "at least you have your health," "God is working this for good," or "God won't give you more than you can bear," thinking that we can somehow neutralize the bitter pill of God's providence with a syrupy sweet sentiment.
If we Christians are soldiers in a battle, why do we tend to shoot our wounded by spraying them with Hallmark-sentiment BBs? If we were in a literal battle and our comrade was gushing blood, we wouldn't try to help him by giving him jelly beans. And we would never commit the worst offense imaginable but one that happens often: abandonment. We add insult to injury, delaying recovery for the sufferer.
It is difficult to know what to say when someone tells us about a crisis he or she is experiencing. What we'd like to do for our friends or loved ones is take away the problem, but that's usually impossible. The best we can hope to accomplish is to provide some relief, but that's an important accomplishment--one that is our duty toward our brothers and sisters.
So what can we say? Unless someone comes to me asking for advice, wanting to talk through a situation, I restrict myself to the following, depending on the circumstances:
*I/We love you.
*I'm/We're praying for you (if I really am).
*Can I help you by? . . .
That last one is the key, I think. James tells us to show our faith by our works, and so if we truly see someone with a need, we'll do something about it. And because so many people are going through difficult times right now, I mean to share in future posts suggestions about what I've learned from my own experiences about what helps and what hurts.
I was thinking a few days ago about the things we say to people, and one of the favorite verses to quote is Romans 8:28, truly a beautiful promise that God will work all things for good for those He loves. I used to dread hearing this verse, even though I knew it was true. Those of us in the body of Christ are one, and we tend to forget (because we're not directly affected) that that person's job loss, the death of that person's spouse, her cancer diagnosis, their rebellious child--all of these are our sorrows too.
Is it possible that God is not just using that pain for the good of the one most directly affected but for my good as well? How can something that isn't happening directly to me work for my good? The Holy Spirit's work is often a mystery to us, but what I do know is that another's pain gives me the opportunity to show love, compassion, to be hospitable, to be a servant, to offer tangible gifts--all working for my good as I'm conformed to the image of Christ.
We need to work on being better comforters.
11/9/09
Jonathan at Sixteen
This year, Jonathan decided to put his interests to work (and he was also told by his parents that he was required to take up an extracurricular project) and has become the political analyst for his school newspaper. He's kind of a mix of Alex from Family Ties, Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity. I'm working on introducing him to the writing flair of Peggy Noonan, but for now, he has a style all his own.
Since it was his birthday, Jonathan has agreed to be my birthday guest blogger. Here is his own recent article, reprinted from the West Michigan Lutheran Mustang News, entitled "You Lie!" (By the way, Jonathan was born on election day 1993; we're wondering if that might have something to do with his interest in politics now.)
You Lie!
by Jonathan Selden
Mustang News Analysis
As many of you remember, during a speech given by President Obama to a joint session of Congress, Representative Joe Wilson (from South Carolina) made his opinion of the president's policies outlined in the speech clear to everyone in the room. When President Obama was trying to put down several claims conservatives have made about the reform bill, he aptly brought up the situation of illegal immigration and reform. The president boldly stated that it was not true that illegal immigrants would be eligible for health care. Joe Wilson shouted out, "You lie," spurring some boos and a glare from the president.
Was this behavior acceptable? No, it was not. Was it deserving of punishment? It probably was. The Democrats pressured Joe Wilson to apologize for what he did. The South Carolina representative willingly did so. The House of Representatives then voted on a gesture of disapproval of Joe Wilson's reactions.
What was the truth value of Joe Wilson's statements? What was the truth value of President Obama? In reality, both sides were truthful, and both sides were wrong. The president's remarks were, in a sense, truthful in saying that the current bill does not allow illegal aliens to participate in the government-run program . . . Therefore, Joe Wilson was wrong to say the president lied.
However, . . . the language [in the bill] doesn't exactly forbid aliens from partaking in the plan.; illegal aliens just can't get federal help to participate.Congress struck down a measure proposed by Republicans that would require proof of citizenship to be able to have access to the government-run plan . . . Suddenly, . . . Joe Wilson's comment doesn't seem so bitterly partisan . . . It is correct in a sense that the statements made by President Obama were misleading . . .
When we all come of the age to be eligible to vote, it is important to question the honesty of each candidate. Even if there is no election, keeping the government honest is something that should be the responsibility of the governed, or risk letting the government for and by the people become a government for and by the governors.
11/3/09
A Hymn to God the Father
Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sins their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow’d in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I’ve spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:
And having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.
~John Donne (1573–1631)
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sins their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow’d in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I’ve spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:
And having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.
~John Donne (1573–1631)
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