Who Says?

I saw yet another post accrediting another God rejecting person with the quote “How much would you have to hate a person to not tell them about salvation if you really believe it?”  It doesn’t even matter who it was this time.  I suppose they could have all said or thought that at some point, but probably not.  I really doubt that these even think in that vein. But the thought that came to me as I read it was “So what.” 

Have we really gotten to the place in our society when the ‘testimony’ of a person who rejects God, ignores his presence, his power and his opinions, is more credible, even to followers of Christ, than the testimony of a person who honors God and does his human best to live out that honor in word and deed.  If we heard Billy Graham or Louie Giglio say “How much do you have to hate a person to not tell them about the love and redemption God offers?”  People would blow it off, give it no thought.  But let an immoral, abusive rocker or a foul mouthed blasphemous comedian say it and it’s suddenly amazingly credible, though they still claim to reject God.  Why?  And what is the true message of that statement given their stance in unbelief?

For decades people have catapulted themselves to fame and wealth through foul language, bad habits and immoral living.  It is a reflection of our society, but that doesn’t make it good or wholesome and should not make it acceptable to those who still claim allegiance to God.  We’ve turned our hearts to accept when we turned our eyes and set our minds to listen.  Why we have done that is irrelevant.  Peer pressure, media saturation, failure of Christian leaders to maintain relevance, attraction, search for ‘reality’: none of these are going to excuse us for going where we have gone –especially those of us who claim Christ as savior.

I know there are many who don’t like my stand –even in my own family- though I’m not sure they quite understand my stand.  I have been informed that my ‘religion’ is an embarrassment by more than one.  But I do know that you can’t have it both ways.  If you want to live like those people who ignore God, stop claiming that God is your source and your love.  I am pitifully human, but I don’t bear it proudly and it is not what I strive for.  God has grace for us.  But grace demands a turning.  In the ‘religious’ vernacular, we call it ‘repentance’.  To quote the Bible “We have turned from sin to serve the living God.”  Yes sin is still present in our humanity, but we are not to relish or glory in it no matter who our audience is.  The Bible seems to say that if you are loving sin and sinful acts and ideas, you have not found the way of truth.  People will retort with “BUT who’s opinion of what sin is?”  Generally, that categorizes you right there.  I’m not as condemning and self-righteous as many make me out to be.  I think that is their way of soothing their conscience and rejecting anything else I might say.  But I do believe there is “sin” and that it is wrong regardless of who accepts it.  God gave us a pretty good idea of what He sees as evil.  That’s really enough.  Jesus narrowed it down.  Love God!  Don’t love the world system, values and behaviors.  John said if you love these, love for God is not in you.  They were a lot harder than I am.

To me, when these perverse celebrities speak words like those at the beginning of this writing, they are only cementing their own condemnation for rejecting God and leading others astray.  Not very admirable.

I Write -Again

Many –yes many years ago, I began a story about angels and their strengths and weaknesses and how it could be that such an awesome, divinely designed creature could ever become a rebel and be filled with everything false and depraved.  I worked on it for well over a year, and then life happened and in other pursuits, it sunk into the chronicles of my ‘unfinished’ life. 

It wasn’t a particularly spiritual write, but I tried to keep it from offending the scripture, when not necessarily aligning with it.  It was more of a concept of truth that I was reaching for, than a revelation of fact. I thought it was a good story, as far as it went, and I felt it was making some kind of overworked, verbose point that was valid among mankind.  I recall and consider it sometimes and have made lackluster attempts at locating it a couple of times to perhaps revive, edit and rewrite the valiant parts and bring it to a proper conclusion.

To say I love writing would be an understatement for those who know me well.  I’ve written stories, poems and prose as long as I can recall.  When I broke my arms at the age of 9, the first creative thing I was able to do was to laboriously type on an old manual typewriter.  I could not hold a pencil or play the piano, but I could put my thoughts on paper in story or poem form. And, I did, in spite of the pain, one finger at a time.

To say I am a writer would be a long stretch, because I’ve only been published by default and that sparsely in my decades of writing.  To my defense, I must admit that I’ve made little effort to be formally published and the events of that nature were generally the doing of others who saw some merit.  Yet I write, and in social media, I have found an audience.  For that I am grateful, because if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, who cares?

The title of my active blog is “Wording out the complexities of life.”  Honestly, most of my writing is as much a question as it is an answer.  I don’t consider myself a prophet or a theologian, though I do enjoy studying and reaching a conclusion that is my own, even if it is not original.  In fact, a huge portion of my writing has no great spiritual message at all, but I have begun to understand that as I am a spiritual being –and we all are one way or another, my belief about God and personal integrity, my understanding of and personal views about good and evil and the general human condition will surface in my writing.  I will slip aggravatingly often between those aspects of my life, for in me, they are not separate.  Even my failures are divine testaments to the great mercy and strength of God’s plan and character.  It is how I face the complexities of life most of the time –by wording them out.

I do get things crossways at times.  I do reach wrong conclusions.  But I am generally searching for truth.  A year or so ago, I began a story about a changeling fairy and as I wrote, I found I had strayed into such a forest of non-conclusion that any truth I might have pursued was lost in a labyrinth of pointless events and ineffectual emotions.   As I reread it a couple of days past a particularly productive session, I felt complete embarrassment at the direction it had taken.  There was no soundness left.  I located the part where I had gotten off track and began my desert wandering, and I began hacking away at the story.  I realized I didn’t have time to rewrite it all then, but I needed to injure it badly enough that I could well see what needed change.

I have a painting student who sometimes gets far enough off track that the fix is greater than he can see and I must often move his painting critically away from its present direction for him to perceive the logic in what must be accomplished.  I don’t like to ‘fix’ a student’s work as a rule.  I’d rather lead them to fix.  But there are times when the only way to see what it needs is to mess it up in the right direction.  These days when I announce “I’m going to ruin your life,” he doesn’t even cringe.  He just moves back and smiles.  He already knows it’s not going where he wants it to.  When I’ve messed it up sufficiently, he is clear to rewrite the story with his brush.  He knows it will be a radical change at that point, but he’s already floundering in the paint.  After I make a few destructive strokes, he always has the “Aha” moment.

And so I see it that sometimes my great Father chops and hacks at my canvas, my story.  I know I’m floundering, and though I badly want to fix it, I cannot from where I stand.  I cannot even see the fix or precisely what is wrong.  I’ve learned to observe, to step back and consider as he messes up my efforts and rights my world again.

But then he hands the pen back and says “Now write.”  And a little embarrassed at where I had been taking it all, I begin again with a bit more caution and purpose.  It is who I am.  I write.

97 years of mercy

It's been a lot of living.  She's always said "When you live another 31 years you will know." 

We each know in our own way, in our own time, I suppose.  I guess I’ve thought and maybe even said the same, though not to my daughters, for I know they are strong-willed capable women who will discover truth in their own way and time.  I also imagine that hearing it from me would probably hamper more than it helped.

The truth is I’ve always loved my kids even if I didn’t think they had a right to their own decision process.  We parents can be bad that way.  And it doesn’t really accomplish much to tell them how hard my life is, though a couple of times I’ve made the effort just because I wanted them to know that I know.  But they don’t know that I know. Yet I’ve always, always wanted the best for them.

Over the years –especially the years since my father’s death- I’ve seen the sorrow, self-doubt and disappointment that colored my mother’s path to this day.  She has officially lived longer than any of her family that I know about.  I believe the previous record belonged to a 96 year old.  But that said, my knowledge of the trial of my mother’s heart has come from watching more than listening to the complaint.  Sometimes it has been listening more to what wasn’t really said or learning to interpret what was said that has brought the most comprehension. 

And so I see the personal lesson available to me.  No, my children will not understand my life nor will they appreciate me understanding theirs.  Yet there is much to pray about and much to stand in place for both in my life and theirs.  One day they may discover that I did understand, but that discovery will mean more than any words I can speak to them.  The words I speak to the Father in their behalf are more effective. 

I’m often distressed by the amount of time God takes to answer my prayers for redemption with mercy in the life of those I love.  The old “Whatever it takes!” prayers may be faster but do I want that?  I want the kind, slow working result.  I want the “Whatever  . . .” speed.  The difference is like the difference between the Dr saying my dad’s legs needed amputated to stop the blood poisoning from the diabetic sores and my daily effort to heal and restore the legs.  The legs did get better, but it took a long time and a lot of patience: nights of gentle cleansing and massage and preparations and wrapping the wounds; mornings of the same.  It wasn’t a swift one time fix.  It took my dedication and willingness to face discouraging set backs and slow progress.  It took my willingness to see minute change and to value little victories.  And to this day, 14 + years since his death, it is worth the effort.  Also, I see that having my children’s problems hacked off in a hurry is not the best way either, even if waiting and praying diligently means times of breathless tears.

This is a picture of prayer effort that came into my mind today.  I see small victories in the life of my mother.  God has worked with me and with others to help her let go of much of the pain that has imprisoned her for years.  But I also see that it is the way God has worked in my own life, cleaning and massaging and adding his balm to change the hurt and the misunderstanding, to allow forgiveness and release.  I suppose it is the way he will answer the prayers of restoration and healing that I have for others I love as well.

It is more of a gift given to me on this, my mother’s 97th birthday.  I do have some goodies to take her this weekend though.  I hope they mean even a shred as much.