The Old Testament reading from the daily office for today is Jeremiah 35 :1-19. It is an interesting vignette deposited in the midst of troubling times for Judah. It is the story of a family who remained faithful to an ancestor's commitment, and because of oppression from foreign forces found themselves in Jerusalem. God, through Jeremiah, uses them as an object lesson for Judah and Jerusalem. It appears that God sometimes ordains for our lives to be instructional for other people, and this may involve our own deprivation or relinquishing of personal desires. I have to hope that somehow in the mystery of what has become our lives, God is using us for an unseen purpose, maybe even as instruction to other souls.

The moments I live for. . .(or at least go to work for)--

We had a lockdown drill at school today--between classes--the worst kind. I urgently ordered kids into my classroom, random kids mostly, not my students except for one or two. Locked the door, turned off the lights, shooed the kids into the back corner where they couldn't be seen by an intruder through the classroom window. I had to herd Josh, a big black guy who happens to be my student, back into the corner, urging him to scrunch in next to another African American whom I had never seen before. Josh was somewhat resistant, not taking the drill too seriously, but I persisted in pushing him in closer to the other students, insisting that I stand in front of him to protect him. It was a whispered interlocution as I maintained my protective position, and he incredulously whispered, "she's half my size." In the midst of this interchange, I declared that any intruder would shoot me first, and I heard the unknown black student whisper, "he'll shoot me because I'm black." Those whispered words, probably unheard by most of the students huddled in the corner, reverberated in my head. We spent the next few moments in complete silence waiting for the all-clear. When the principal gave the word that the drill was over and students should proceed to their second period class, I asked to speak to that student. "Yes, Ma'm," was his reply. I asked his name--Zion--and told him mine, letting him know that I was glad to meet him. And then I looked him in the eye and told him never to put himself down because of who he is. I told him that his life was just as precious and valuable as anyone else's in the building, and that any perpetrator would have to come through me to get to him. A polite, "Yes, Ma'm," was his reply, and off he went to class. A precious moment with a precious young man. I hope that the knowledge that a teacher valued his life and would try to protect him becomes a positive part of his development as a human being. And that's why I go to work every day.

Dear Stephanie,

Today marks the 30th anniversary of your going to God. Thirty is a big deal here on earth, it seems. When your birthday passed in May, I had my usual dip into sadness. The whole month of May kind of stinks for me. But it is here at this point when I remember saying good-bye to you that my mind has been lingering. I was really hoping that your brother Peter's son would be born today. I thought that would be so redeeming. That is not to be. Dear Kristie still carries little Cohen in her womb.

I want to let you know a few things. First of all, I'm glad God called you to Himself. You would have struggled so much had you been confined to your earthly body. Though my heart has grieved for thirty years, I am glad His grace relieved your suffering. I often try to imagine what your spiritual life is like. I have to content myself with the knowledge that it is good, peaceful, and full of love.

The second thing I want you to know is that I look forward with great anticipation to the time when I will get to know you in your perfection. I wonder if you are like your brothers, funny and smart and deeply thoughtful. Do you have that mix of me and your dad, so cerebral joined with passionate emotion? What will you look like in your new body, having shed the one that was so broken?

Finally, I want you to know that I wouldn't have missed you for anything in the world. I am so glad I was your mother. Your short life changed mine in ways nothing else could have, and for that I am grateful.

Your dad realized today that you share the same earth exiting anniversary as that great church father, St. Augustine. Maybe you have met him.

There is so much I don't know about life eternal. But I do know that one day we will be reunited in the presence of the Triune God and the holy angels. Thanks be to God.

I love you. I miss you. I will see you again.

Your Mamma

Some of the most seemingly innocuous experiences sometimes have the most profound impact. I have a tendency to store up memories of moments of failure and, from time to time, feel the sting of regret. Walking in the back yard today, some unknown trigger took me back to a long-gone Saturday afternoon in June where I was dishing out ice cream to a customer at the annual Ice Cream Social of our little country church. Being the "rule-keeping" girl that I was, I carefully measured the scoop into this man's cup. He evidently thought my portion miserly and asked for a little more. I basically ignored his request (had to follow my instructions precisely) and received his angry look in return.

Why has that scene played in my mind sporadically over the past twenty years bringing with it a feeling of great remorse? I don't know all the answers to that question--that would probably take therapy--but as I mused again today over that blip on the time-line of my life, my prayer to God was for Him to continue to change my heart and renew my mind. I pray for Him to continue to root out a spirit that is more concerned with the letter of the law than the hospitality of the divine nature. The memory of that experience is a reminder to engage people with the lavish generosity of the Savior.

It may be that faithfulness to Christ will be my crowning achievement (maybe Carl's too).

How often we have longed to do something great and significant, become a change-agent in the world, "make the world a better place." Yet, at 55 years of age, the prospects of doing something great (or being married to someone who does something great) are getting pretty slim. It has now been a year since we have been decidedly in our most recent "crisis, battle, trial"--whatever you want to call it. Last year at just this time, Carl and his close colleagues came under direct attack from the powers at the university--beginning with the onslaught against Michael Pahl and his family. Since last June, this group of faithful scholars with their families has endured sortie after sortie. I am convinced that spiritual warfare like we cannot even imagine has been occurring over the town of Cedarville, OH. Of course, this is not unlike many times throughout history when people who claim to be followers of Christ have ravaged fellow believers, leaving a putrefying taste in the mouths of observers. (Who needs oppression from the world when God's people crucify God's people?) After a year in this hostile environment, some have seen prayers answered and are being released to seek ministry in other places. This is a joyous thing, but not without its sorrow. It is never easy to uproot and start over, and it is never easy to leave friends who have bonded through the power of suffering. So, as we had our final big get-together last evening with this amazing group of people, our hearts are happy for those who have found new places, but intensely sorrowful over the scattering to the four winds, as well as the plight of those of us who still have no clear direction for the future (especially those who it appears will have to "soldier on" for one more year at the university).

Which brings me back to my opening statement--My life with Carl seems to have been one struggle after another, not the least being the struggle against a suffocating brand of Christianity. By the leading of the Holy Spirit and the integrity of his soul, Carl could not serve another year at Cedarville University. This has obviously been a step of faith and obedience to Christ. It is a step with no guarantees of outcome. Will he find a place of fulfillment where he can use his gifts and experience to their fullest? Will he have future impact in the lives of students through his teaching? Will we have financial security? I do not know. The only thing that is in the sphere of my control is my response to God and life's circumstances. Will I trust God or fall into despair? Will I succumb to anger and bitterness or remain gracious and forgiving? Will I give way to anxiety and fear or maintain hope and joy? These are my choices. Whatever dreams of greatness that still may lurk in the corners of my mind may totally dissipate in the reality of daily life. There may be no great achievements in my life (or Carl's). That is in the hands of God.

So, if God wills it, with whatever time I have left on earth, may faithfulness to Christ be my crowning achievement.

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