Sometimes a hideous thought crawls through my mind like Gollum creeping after Frodo--that my dear one would have better off had he died in the womb.

Father Harry has taught us that Jesus revealed God's purpose for humanity to the lowly Samaritan woman. God desires worshipers who worship Him in spirit and in truth. (John 4:1-23)

Today I watched my dear one as he was working on his computer, sound oozing out of his head despite the headphones on his ears. He listened to "How Great is Our God" and sang along, off key. Though many times tempted to admonish him to "turn the volume down," this day I just watched. And as he sang "and trembles at His voice," his arms shook with the fear of it. And as he sang, "how great, how great is our God," he raised his hands in adoration. And once again, God reminded me that I do not understand the mysteries of life, nor the mind of God. And that this broken son is one of God's purest worshipers.

So on this "Sanctity of Life" day with Father Greg's words echoing in my mind, I have been reminded again that every life is precious, and no life that worships God is wasted.

lessons on the Lord's day

I have a pastor--that was my epiphany today. As I sat in Sunday School this morning and didn't see Father Greg, I felt disappointment. And it hit me--I have a pastor, one who feeds me each Sunday, and I wanted him there. Fortunate for me, he was there, just late to Sunday School. But what a comforting feeling. I have someone looking after my soul, shepherding me, praying for me, feeding me. Just like Jesus said to Saint Peter--"Feed my sheep."

Another epiphany--my girl had trouble this morning, as usual when she attends worship with us--annoying, distracting, aggravating trouble. And afterwards we played the prescribed roles in a familiar script--parents admonishing, girl lacerating with her tongue. But then, when I breached the bolted door, a revelation to me and to her. One more memory that tortured this sensitive soul who seems cold and hard but is really scared and wounded. And a cleansing occurred with the revelation, an understanding, a glimmer of hope for better days.

So thank you, Lord Jesus, for the bread of your body and the wine of your blood, for the feeding and the forgiveness, for the mercy and the hope--Christ our Hope!

I am a savior. And I have three adopted children, a teaching license, and a degree in multicultural education to prove it. But what I am finding out, is that I can’t save anyone. I can be a piece of the saving, but not the whole. If I can fully accept this, and if this can be enough, maybe I can continue teaching.

Education has inherited the task of redeeming the culture. However, it is unrealistic to think that teachers can heal all the wounds, nurture students in ethical values and social relationships, provide emotional and psychological stability to facilitate optimal learning conditions, fill in learning gaps of a mobile student population, and have every student meet rigorous state and national standards. Those who pretend this is possible on a wide scale under current conditions are politicians or university professors, not educators in the classroom. Nevertheless, we who continue to get up at 5:45 and daily face the young people committed to our care must find ways of making things better. We must be tireless in seeking new perspectives and strategies that will help our students have a greater chance of living productive, thoughtful lives. We must, as a piece of the village, do whatever we can to foster our students’ development in a global society.

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/11/when-compassion-becomes-a-gold-rush/

God revealed Himself and my sin through this story of a 15-year-old boy in the Amazon jungle. The heart of Christ is compassion, and if I am to be like Christ, my heart must be characterized by compassion, not self-preservation and comfort. The Holy Spirit, gently but firmly, put his finger on my sin. Back in November, as we were facing another round of our child’s confusion with reality, I made the witty comment to professional who helps us, “ I didn’t a sign up for this.” I am broken with the shame of that flippant statement. I did sign up for this, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t have a glamorous story, but I have children who needed to be loved and brought to the Father. I have children who deserved the touch of Christ, deserved to have a home. Whatever pain I suffer is so little compared with what Christ suffered so that we all could be loved and belong. Thank You, Father, for the kick in the gut that the compassion of Christ brings. Forgive me for my lack of compassion, for any tinge of regret I sometimes feel for my choices, for ever doubting that I heard Your voice telling me to parent needy children, for one moment of thinking that, “I didn’t sign up for this.” Cleanse me and change me and allow me to be broken for you, a living sacrifice until my dying day.

For years, I have had a longing for a worship experience that would draw me to the gospel, to the grace of God through Jesus Christ. I have experienced this angst, this dissatisfaction and emptiness after attending church on Sunday mornings. However, I didn’t know what I was missing, what it would look like to be brought to Christ through the worship service on a regular basis. Now, after attending Anglican worship, I have a “template.” It’s as though I sigh in my spirit, finally finding my home after so long not knowing where it was.

It’s amazing to me that I am still trying to learn to give my children to God, leaving their lives in His capable hands. This is not to say that I don’t have a responsibility toward my children, especially an underage child, but I can’t heal my children, no matter how hard I try. Can I believe that God indeed loves them more than I do and that He will not abandon them, though they run from Him at times?

I resonate with this quote from Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson: “I heard a man say once that Christians worship sorrow. That is by no means true. But we do believe there is a sacred mystery in it, it’s fair to say that… I believe there is a dignity in sorrow simply because it is God’s good pleasure that there should be. He is forever raising up those who are brought low.” Here’s to all those who are brought low waiting for Him to raise you up.

In thinking about what I wanted to communicate in this blog, I thought of many words: pilgrimage, way of suffering, perseverance, wilderness. However, though these words may describe many experiences of my life, these are not the words that I want to define my life. Mulling over what I want my life to represent, I thought of the foreign film, Life is Beautiful. Though this film is filled with suffering, the man wants to communicate to his son the wonder and beauty of life. I believe this brings glory to God. That is what I want from my life—to see the beauty in the midst of the suffering, to reflect the beauty of God. So the name of my blog is “beautiful life.”