Lord, help me to pray always and not to lose heart.
The gospel reading from Luke 18:-1-8 was the first thing me eyes saw when I switched on my computer after a couple of hours of prayer and tears. That line was an arrow to my heart--"Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart." This is one of those times that I believe God whispers his presence in my life. This is how I hear God. Like Aslan breathing on the children. And the word today was not some sentimental quip, but rather an exhortation to persevere. God is not bound by time as I am. This life is merely a blip on the screen of eternity. So I must always pray and not lose heart, even when I don't see "timely" answers to prayer and when I lose awareness of God's activity in my life and the lives of those I love. Even when events don't make sense and I can't see "God's plan." This is difficult and requires a steadfast discipleship. I am tempted to doubt and despair. I have wondered why Jesus ended this discourse with the question--"And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" I think I'm starting to get it.
Oh, Lord, hear my prayer--help me to pray always and not to lose heart.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Sometimes I wonder if God really is involved in the daily facets of our lives. Does He really have a plan for me? Does He really direct our lives in an ongoing way, or does He show up with specific intervention just once in a while? I struggle with this partly because of the time spent in prayer that seems to be unanswered and disappointments that chiefly seem to come from other Christians. (Of course, if I were in an area of the world where Christians experience regular persecution and even death because of their faith, that would be the source of my questioning, I'm sure.) Today I'm thinking of a friend's unjust treatment by other Christians and subsequent struggle in finding employment and a son's disappointment because of the fickle nature of people paired with a lack of considerate, respectful communication (an email doesn't cut it). Understandably, these situations have a tendency to throw me back to my own bitter pills of not so long ago. I begin to wonder if God really has an end in view with regard to my slight existence and if He is either orchestrating the pitfalls and obstacles, or if He works around things that happen simply because we live in a fallen world. Deep in my soul, I continue to believe that God is able to work at both the macro and the micro levels. However, sometimes, like today, my belief stumbles. So as I began reading the daily office, confessing sin and praising the Lord, I prayed that God would show me the truth about His intimate involvement in our lives. If God exists in some detached way in relationship with His children, He is still worthy to be praised. But if He is really present and at work in the mundane (and not so mundane) facets of my life, I want to know. So I read through the Psalms and the book of Baruch, and then I came to the epistle reading for today:
James 5:13-18
James 5:13-18
13 Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. 14 Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. 15 The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. 16 Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. 17 Elijah was a human being like us, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. 18 Then he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain and the earth yielded its harvest.
This passage seemed like an answer of sorts to my prayer. Sickness, health, suffering, and joy--these are the things that make up the fabric of our lives, the things we experience on a daily basis. In this passage, James encourages believers to pray about all of these things and is confident that God hears such prayers and answers. So even if prayers do not seem to be answered quickly and disappointments heap one upon another, I will continue to pray, believing that God indeed hears and will answer.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
White Fragility and Freddie Gray
http://abc7.com/news/video-angry-baltimore-mom-beats-son-suspected-of-rioting/684791/
I've been thinking about this story of the angry mother who beat her son after seeing him throw rocks at police during the "riot" in Baltimore spawned by the death of Freddie Gray. Gray died in police custody. This, of course, follows several other black deaths at the hands of police officers in the past year. My question regarding this specific story within the larger Baltimore story has to do with the reaction of the public. Reportedly, Toya Graham saw her son throwing rocks at police after the funeral of Freddie Gray. Her well-documented response was to physically thrash the boy in public, repeatedly grabbing him, smacking him, and dragging him away from the scene. Her momentary vault into celebrity status was met with what appears to be praise and affirmation by the media and the general public. In this report, ABC news, WMAR affiliate, seems to condone the behavior of Graham reporting that she was "dishing up a dose of discipline." People who commented on the story refer to her "good parenting" and even name her "mom of the year." My purpose here is not to make a value judgment about Toya Graham's actions, but to wonder why in this case her actions receive acclaim, whereas if a video like this were seen in a different context, she might have been arrested for child abuse (at minimum would have had a visit from child protective services). Why this duplicity in public response? There may be several answers to that question, but I thought of two.
When I first saw the images of Graham hitting and dragging (all the while screaming) her son away from the crowd, my response was, "I don't blame her." That scene evoked a visceral response as a mother who has known the passion of protection and the fear of losing a child. So I think I understood her actions, to an extent. I at least could reconcile a loving mother behaving in such a violent manner. An unwelcome memory of slapping an out of control child in the face immediately sprang to mind. So how could I condemn Graham without condemning myself? After all, but for the grace of God, I could have done such a thing. Maybe the collective public approval stems from parents who know the pitfalls and anxieties of raising teenagers.
However, a second possibility nags at my thoughts. I have not seen reaction to Graham's actions from the African American community, so I don't know what that specific demographic thinks about it. I am basing my thoughts purely on the response of the media and a few responses from Facebook. (Incidentally, my Facebook friends reflect almost entirely a white middle class perspective.) What eats at me is the possibility that this woman's actions in this case have met with praise because it makes white people feel better to see a black woman punishing her son (even in such an out-of-control and public manner) for being involved in protest behavior. Robin DiAngelo in, "White Fragility," from the International Journal of Critical Pedagogy, introduces the concept of white fragility being a "state in which even a minimum amount of racial stress becomes intolerable, triggering a range of defensive moves." (DiAngelo, Robin. "White Fragility." International Journal of Critical Pedagogy, Vol 3 (3) (2011) pp. 54-70.) Because white people live in a "social environment that protects and insulates them from race-based stress," they live in a world that "builds white expectations for racial comfort while at the same time lowering the ability to tolerate racial stress." This, according to DiAngelo, constitutes a condition of white fragility. I wonder if this inability to deal with the stress of race-induced tension might cause the ironic reaction that we witnessed to this incident. In our intense desire to mitigate the angry reaction of the black community to yet another death at the hands of law enforcement, we not only over-looked, but actually condoned and hailed the beating she gave her son. Could it be that people applaud whatever would serve to dispel violence toward the police and restore equilibrium to the white community?
I've been thinking about this story of the angry mother who beat her son after seeing him throw rocks at police during the "riot" in Baltimore spawned by the death of Freddie Gray. Gray died in police custody. This, of course, follows several other black deaths at the hands of police officers in the past year. My question regarding this specific story within the larger Baltimore story has to do with the reaction of the public. Reportedly, Toya Graham saw her son throwing rocks at police after the funeral of Freddie Gray. Her well-documented response was to physically thrash the boy in public, repeatedly grabbing him, smacking him, and dragging him away from the scene. Her momentary vault into celebrity status was met with what appears to be praise and affirmation by the media and the general public. In this report, ABC news, WMAR affiliate, seems to condone the behavior of Graham reporting that she was "dishing up a dose of discipline." People who commented on the story refer to her "good parenting" and even name her "mom of the year." My purpose here is not to make a value judgment about Toya Graham's actions, but to wonder why in this case her actions receive acclaim, whereas if a video like this were seen in a different context, she might have been arrested for child abuse (at minimum would have had a visit from child protective services). Why this duplicity in public response? There may be several answers to that question, but I thought of two.
When I first saw the images of Graham hitting and dragging (all the while screaming) her son away from the crowd, my response was, "I don't blame her." That scene evoked a visceral response as a mother who has known the passion of protection and the fear of losing a child. So I think I understood her actions, to an extent. I at least could reconcile a loving mother behaving in such a violent manner. An unwelcome memory of slapping an out of control child in the face immediately sprang to mind. So how could I condemn Graham without condemning myself? After all, but for the grace of God, I could have done such a thing. Maybe the collective public approval stems from parents who know the pitfalls and anxieties of raising teenagers.
However, a second possibility nags at my thoughts. I have not seen reaction to Graham's actions from the African American community, so I don't know what that specific demographic thinks about it. I am basing my thoughts purely on the response of the media and a few responses from Facebook. (Incidentally, my Facebook friends reflect almost entirely a white middle class perspective.) What eats at me is the possibility that this woman's actions in this case have met with praise because it makes white people feel better to see a black woman punishing her son (even in such an out-of-control and public manner) for being involved in protest behavior. Robin DiAngelo in, "White Fragility," from the International Journal of Critical Pedagogy, introduces the concept of white fragility being a "state in which even a minimum amount of racial stress becomes intolerable, triggering a range of defensive moves." (DiAngelo, Robin. "White Fragility." International Journal of Critical Pedagogy, Vol 3 (3) (2011) pp. 54-70.) Because white people live in a "social environment that protects and insulates them from race-based stress," they live in a world that "builds white expectations for racial comfort while at the same time lowering the ability to tolerate racial stress." This, according to DiAngelo, constitutes a condition of white fragility. I wonder if this inability to deal with the stress of race-induced tension might cause the ironic reaction that we witnessed to this incident. In our intense desire to mitigate the angry reaction of the black community to yet another death at the hands of law enforcement, we not only over-looked, but actually condoned and hailed the beating she gave her son. Could it be that people applaud whatever would serve to dispel violence toward the police and restore equilibrium to the white community?
Thursday, April 9, 2015
It started a while ago, in the nineteen sixties, I guess. At least that's what they say--the sexual revolution. I don't know the sociology behind the shift in cultural norms, but it seems we have developed an overwhelmingly sexualized culture. This may be an obvious observation, but it goes far beyond the acceptance of sexually provocative clothing, sleeping around, children born out of wedlock, and even homosexual relationships. (In the decade of my birth, these things were considered scandalous.) Yesterday I experienced two things that informed my understanding of how far we have come down this path. While taking an online course to prepare to be a substitute teacher in the state of Georgia, I encountered a good deal of information that I already knew as an experienced teacher. However, I learned one piece of information that I haven't encountered in my fifteen years of teaching. Georgia has a "no touch" policy with regard to teachers and students. At face value, this might seem prudent considering the cases of childhood abuse at the hands of trusted adults. After all, there can't be inappropriate touch if there is no touch at all. (Although, I'm not sure how much sexual abuse this will prevent since most instances of abuse occur when no one else is around anyway.) What troubles me is that this policy overreaches in its attempt to protect children (and school districts from law suits) and concludes that it is not reasonable to differentiate between loving, positive touch and sexual abuse. The benefits, and even the necessity, of positive physical touch have been well documented. (Here are just a couple of sources-http://www.pickthebrain.com/blog/6-reasons-you-need-to-be-touched/
http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0273229711000025.) I remember a therapist telling me that everyone needs at least fourteen positive touches every day to be emotionally well. Since this is the case, what does that say about thousands of school children spending over seven hours a day in an environment that is devoid of positive touch--no hugs for small children, no pats on backs, no high-fives. As a high school teacher, I was always very careful about physical touch with students--most of the time it is unwarranted. However, there have been times when a distraught student (particularly a girl) needed a pat on the back, a high-five, or a hug with permission. Though high school students can probably get through most days without positive touch from the adults in their orb, it troubles me to think of young children, whose brains and bodies are in such rapid development and who continue to need nurturing adults actively involved with them for most of their day, confined to an environment that bans all supportive touch. I am passionate about protecting children from sexual abuse, but that protection should not extend to the point of depriving children of something that is essential for their physiological and psychological well-being. Yet, we are living in a culture in which all physical touch is suspect because of perpetrators who degrade children through abuse.
The other event that I experienced yesterday was watching the latest episode of my favorite show on PBS--"Call the Midwife." I have noticed over the past couple of years that the shows I like to watch (typically British) have been introducing the issue of homosexuality on a regular basis. (For example, Mr. Barrows in "Downton Abbey") What troubled me yesterday was the scene in which one of the midwives sought comfort from a female friend, and the scene was framed unmistakably to suggest that the two women were lovers. What saddens me here is the loss of freedom for two friends of either gender to express loving, positive touch without it being sexualized. It wasn't too many decades ago (in my lifetime) that girls, even young women, could be seen hand in hand or arm in arm and had the liberty to kiss one another on the cheek without being slandered or labeled. Filial affection could be distinct from erotic affection. Though not the case in the U. S. where male standards of behavior have been narrowly defined, Peter, after visiting India a few years ago, told of seeing men holding hands in friendship. None of that behavior could be practiced now without onlookers assuming homosexuality--thus the sexualization of physical touch. (Indeed, as early as the late 1970s, this behavior was beginning to be suspect. I remember being in college and feeling starved for physical touch because it was not allowed from a member of the opposite sex and none of my girlfriends offered it, either.) This to me signals a sickening loss of one of the most important aspects of loving relationships. Though cultural norms vary with regard to how "physical" people are with each other, I believe it is irrefutable that human beings need loving touch which provides connection to another human being, reduces stress levels, and helps our psyches to develop in healthy ways. When we sexualize human touch, we impose a cultural fast on activity that is vital to our well-being as physical creatures who desperately need connection with each other.
http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0273229711000025.) I remember a therapist telling me that everyone needs at least fourteen positive touches every day to be emotionally well. Since this is the case, what does that say about thousands of school children spending over seven hours a day in an environment that is devoid of positive touch--no hugs for small children, no pats on backs, no high-fives. As a high school teacher, I was always very careful about physical touch with students--most of the time it is unwarranted. However, there have been times when a distraught student (particularly a girl) needed a pat on the back, a high-five, or a hug with permission. Though high school students can probably get through most days without positive touch from the adults in their orb, it troubles me to think of young children, whose brains and bodies are in such rapid development and who continue to need nurturing adults actively involved with them for most of their day, confined to an environment that bans all supportive touch. I am passionate about protecting children from sexual abuse, but that protection should not extend to the point of depriving children of something that is essential for their physiological and psychological well-being. Yet, we are living in a culture in which all physical touch is suspect because of perpetrators who degrade children through abuse.
The other event that I experienced yesterday was watching the latest episode of my favorite show on PBS--"Call the Midwife." I have noticed over the past couple of years that the shows I like to watch (typically British) have been introducing the issue of homosexuality on a regular basis. (For example, Mr. Barrows in "Downton Abbey") What troubled me yesterday was the scene in which one of the midwives sought comfort from a female friend, and the scene was framed unmistakably to suggest that the two women were lovers. What saddens me here is the loss of freedom for two friends of either gender to express loving, positive touch without it being sexualized. It wasn't too many decades ago (in my lifetime) that girls, even young women, could be seen hand in hand or arm in arm and had the liberty to kiss one another on the cheek without being slandered or labeled. Filial affection could be distinct from erotic affection. Though not the case in the U. S. where male standards of behavior have been narrowly defined, Peter, after visiting India a few years ago, told of seeing men holding hands in friendship. None of that behavior could be practiced now without onlookers assuming homosexuality--thus the sexualization of physical touch. (Indeed, as early as the late 1970s, this behavior was beginning to be suspect. I remember being in college and feeling starved for physical touch because it was not allowed from a member of the opposite sex and none of my girlfriends offered it, either.) This to me signals a sickening loss of one of the most important aspects of loving relationships. Though cultural norms vary with regard to how "physical" people are with each other, I believe it is irrefutable that human beings need loving touch which provides connection to another human being, reduces stress levels, and helps our psyches to develop in healthy ways. When we sexualize human touch, we impose a cultural fast on activity that is vital to our well-being as physical creatures who desperately need connection with each other.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Beauty for ashes.......
Living with my dad for about six weeks reminds me of picking through the rubble of a burned out house and unexpectedly finding an heirloom painting, precious and beautiful, untouched by the devastation. So often I have asked myself, "Why did he live? What purpose could this interminable journey of suffering have?" I don't have the answers to how the world works or how God works in the world, but my soul stands breathless as I have watched how the finger of God has created a magnum opus of Chet Littlefield's life. It is a simple masterpiece, to be sure, nothing sophisticated or hard to interpret. But to see it is nothing short of stunning, breath-taking, awe-inspiring. I see it in the way he watches the birds. I see it in the way he coaxes Sammie to jump up into his lap. I see it in the way he slowly walks around the neighborhood or creeps up the stairs. I see it in the way he struggles to engage in conversation and never gets angry in his failure to find the right words. I see it in the way he revels in my cooking, smiling and saying, "very good" with heartfelt enthusiasm. He embraces the minutiae of life and elevates it to the sublime while patiently enduring his crushing limitations. So I think I understand a little bit about why God allowed him to receive this life's sentence.
When I began this blog, my intent was to magnify the beauty of a life that has experienced suffering. The film Life is Beautiful influenced my choice of a name because I was fascinated by the tone and message of that film--finding life to be beautiful amidst the most horrifying of circumstances. I have written about my own journey of pain and finding God present in the thick of it. It has become a theme of my life--hope and belief in the beauty of life despite the difficulties of life. My father embodies the very essence of the purpose of this blog--to reveal the beauty of a life couched in suffering and loss. Beauty for ashes...
Living with my dad for about six weeks reminds me of picking through the rubble of a burned out house and unexpectedly finding an heirloom painting, precious and beautiful, untouched by the devastation. So often I have asked myself, "Why did he live? What purpose could this interminable journey of suffering have?" I don't have the answers to how the world works or how God works in the world, but my soul stands breathless as I have watched how the finger of God has created a magnum opus of Chet Littlefield's life. It is a simple masterpiece, to be sure, nothing sophisticated or hard to interpret. But to see it is nothing short of stunning, breath-taking, awe-inspiring. I see it in the way he watches the birds. I see it in the way he coaxes Sammie to jump up into his lap. I see it in the way he slowly walks around the neighborhood or creeps up the stairs. I see it in the way he struggles to engage in conversation and never gets angry in his failure to find the right words. I see it in the way he revels in my cooking, smiling and saying, "very good" with heartfelt enthusiasm. He embraces the minutiae of life and elevates it to the sublime while patiently enduring his crushing limitations. So I think I understand a little bit about why God allowed him to receive this life's sentence.
When I began this blog, my intent was to magnify the beauty of a life that has experienced suffering. The film Life is Beautiful influenced my choice of a name because I was fascinated by the tone and message of that film--finding life to be beautiful amidst the most horrifying of circumstances. I have written about my own journey of pain and finding God present in the thick of it. It has become a theme of my life--hope and belief in the beauty of life despite the difficulties of life. My father embodies the very essence of the purpose of this blog--to reveal the beauty of a life couched in suffering and loss. Beauty for ashes...
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Where did I learn faith and faithfulness? My father. Stricken at nearly 51 years of age with a stroke that rendered him void of his abilities and life's work, he has never faltered in his trust in God. Though dependent on others for his safety and well-being, barely capable of communicating his thoughts, and subject to periods of confusion and fatigue, he has never cursed his fate or given up on life. Today I watched him in amazement as he praised God for His goodness and care. He had gone out for a walk even though he hadn't quite been feeling his best. My mother and I had left at the same time to walk the dogs. Of course, we passed him quickly, and on our return trip found that he had gone farther than we had expected. We passed him again, confident that he could make it home. However, as Mom and I neared the house, suddenly the wind picked up and it started to rain. The weather in Savannah is capricious. I hurried into the house, grabbed my car keys, and set off down the street to get Dad. I pulled up to him as the rain started coming down hard, and Dad smiled as he got into the car. Back in the house, he had barely seated himself in the recliner when he called my name. He wanted to tell me something. In halting speech, he communicated what I understood to mean--Ever since his stroke at age 50, God has never left him alone, never not taken care of him. His "rescue" from the rain had reminded him of that once again, and his face shone with amazement, gratitude, and love for the God who has always shown Himself to be faithful. A holy moment kissed with the divine presence.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Tears well up and spill over unexpectedly as I lie on the couch resting from an afternoon of working on making this Savannah house our home. My mind was skating along recent memories and landed on Christmas day when our children gave us a portable fire pit--to take the place of the fire pit they built for us on our land in Cedarville. That's what did it, and I am amazed at the grief, latent under the surface, that from time to time reaches up to grab my throat. And then I must walk down that path again, remembering the comfort and warmth that I felt in that place, the feeling of being truly "at home." It was a unique experience, one that I may not ever have again. That piece of real estate was so much more than a property. I find comfort in the knowledge that God clearly revealed to me that we would have that place for just a season, though that knowledge does little to stem the flow of tears when the grief rushes in. However, that knowledge reinforces the belief that God was present in it all, providing for that time a place that cushioned us from the evil forces around us. And I find myself rehearsing again the good things that came from our time in Ohio--none of it was wasted--but I grieve at the reality of a Christian world that forces people to become "other," a world that produces loss like ours. Lord have mercy upon us, your people, and forgive us for the blight of disunity, pride, and self-aggrandizement.
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