The Steps of a Daughter in the Faith

Ladies and gentlemen, this is why I do what I do.

Thoughts from an evening out

So Kristy and I went out for the evening. Together. Just the two of us, and Theoneinsidekristy. (We were trying to think of the last date we had where a child wasn't present in some form, and we gave up after a few minutes.)

Two things jumped out at me from our date:

Big Thing #1: Man, do I love Olive Garden's breadsticks and alfredo dipping sauce.

We went to Olive Garden for dinner, as we seem to always do when we get the chance. And every time, I order a little bowl of alfredo dipping sauce, and every time I do, my mouth starts to water. They bring the sauce and the breadsticks, and the entire rest of the meal is almost inconsequential. Until I discovered their Tuscan TBone, which I didn't have last night, but which is the best prepared piece of meat I've ever had.

So I'm just totally enjoying the taste of this sauce with the bread, and I'm trying to think of another taste that I like this much. And my mind goes back to when I was seven. I was a second-grader at Blessed Hope Christian Academy, and the school was having a fundraiser event (I think it was an alumni basketball game or something). Anyway, my mom made this pan of carrot cake, with this thick layer of cream cheese frosting on the top, and they served pieces of it at the concession stand. For some reason, they didn't even charge anything.

So I had a piece, and, oh my word, it was awesome. It was everything that cake aspires to be, but rarely ever is, you know? So I had another piece. My seven-year-old mind quickly realized that I could sneak up to the counter between adults, grab a little plate with a piece of the cake, and be gone before anyone even noticed.

I distinctly remember eating ten pieces of carrot cake that night. And I also distinctly remember sitting on the stage, watching the game, and thinking two dichotemous (is that a word?) thoughts: 1) I'm pretty sure I'd feel a lot better if I could throw up right now, and 2) I wonder if there's any carrot cake left.

Eating the breadsticks and alfredo dipping sauce last night was kind of like that. Except for my not being seven anymore. And being with my wife. And my fourth child.

Other than that - just like it.

So after we finished dinner, we went to the Peoria Riverfront, and strolled through the district and along the river. It was a gorgeous night, with a clear sky and a bright, full moon. The temperature had gone down enough that it wasn't a burden to be outside. We leaned against the railing and watched boats and barges and moonbeams float by.

And suddenly, I'm struck with the need to say something. To have a conversation. Say something romantic, something substantive. Talk about our dreams, our life, something. I tried a thing or two, and it just wasn't happening.

And then, Big Thing #2 dawned on me:

Right now is a time that I can just Be.

I don't have to talk. I don't have to do. I don't have to discuss, explain, rationalize, defend. I don't have to encourage, discourage, sound poignant, be funny.

I can just sit next to her, feel the breeze on my face, hold her hand for a few moments here and there, and just be with her.

And so I did.

This is God. Over and out.

(Author's note: the following account is going to come off to some as a sappy attempt at a pity party, and some who know me/us may be upset that they didn't know what was going on and weren't able to do anything. This entry is intended only to articulate what has been going through my head on my journey, and is not intended to be anything other than that. Please try to read it in that light.)


"What's God trying to tell us?"

Kristy posed the question at the end of a challenging series of events.

After we got home from a challenging weekend car-repairwise, we examined our financial position and realized that, basically, we didn't have one. The repair costs had set us back, and our food arrangements have been more costly since Kristy has been unable to cook recently.

So we sat at the table, and we talked to God. We told Him that we needed help; we told Him that we didn't understand why we were still here when we knew what He wanted us to do; we told Him that Kristy was really struggling with this pregnancy, physically and emotionally; we told Him that I was trying to keep up with the housework, with varying levels of mostly non-success, and I was gettting tired.

We told Him these things, because we believe He listens, and with Him being God and all, He's in a position to, well, do something about it. We assured God that we weren't expecting Ed McMahon on our doorstep or anything, just give us what we need. And Him being God, we assumed He knew what was best for us. 'Cause that's the kind of God He is.

So, wouldn't you know it: the next afternoon, Derek goes into the hospital with an asthma attack.

-----

"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away: blessed be the name of the Lord."

"Neither know we what to do: but our eyes are upon thee."

Whenever these quotes from the Bible are referenced in sermons or whatnot, the immense faith of these men (Job in the former instance, Jehoshaphat in the latter) often is the emphasis. But as I was sitting next to Derek's bed in the hospital, I thought about those statements, and I thought about the contexts for them, and it hit me like a ton of bricks:

Those are a couple of dudes that didn't have a clue.

Job went from Rich, Successful, Fulfilled Guy to zero in a day or so, and he had no idea why. His spirituality was above reproach, his relationship with God a source of cosmic trash talk (God: Hey Satan, have you checked out Job? Boo-yah!). Yet there he was, oxenless and covered in boils.

Jehoshaphat skipped the boils part, but an entire nation turned to him when it was discovered that three larger nations had ganged up for the purpose of making sure they no longer existed. No plan, no contingency, no weapon, was going to make up for how lopsided this fight was before it had even started. And Jehoshaphat had his relationship with God squared around, too. Yet there he was: responsible for the apparent impending doom of millions of people.

If these guys had just read their Bibles, they would have known that Job was going to get all his stuff back and more, Jehoshaphat was going to lead his nation out to start singing as their enemies started killing each other, and everything was gonna work out. But they didn't read their Bibles, and they couldn't read the back of the book, and they still made these statements.

Blessed be the name of the Lord. Our eyes are upon thee.

Even though I don't have a clue.

-----

So I'm measuring my spirituality up against these guys, and I'm thinking, These guys were on the up-and-up with God, and they went through tough stuff. And what they went through wasn't tied to some wake-up call: it turns out God is God, and stuff just happens. To us, even. For a reason, because all things work together for good, but it's still in the "just happens" category.

Do I deserve an explanation? Not anymore than Job or Jehoshaphat did in the middle of their situations. Perhaps less so.

So as I pondered what God was saying, it ocurred to me that I knew what He was saying:

Be still, and know that I am God.

-----

Derek had an asthma attack, and was treated for 24 hours because he'd been getting little oxygen for some time. He felt much better afterward, and now that we know he's an asthmatic, we're able to give him breathing treatments and occasional medication that is helping greatly. He's more active and energetic than He's been in some time.

After we returned from the hospital, we called Kristy's parents to let them know what happened, and they decided on the spot that they were coming to help out. They loaded their SUV full of food and pulled in late last night, buying groceries for us, catching up the housework, helping with the kids, allowing Kristy and I some rest.

I'm pretty sure we're not to the sing-as-our-enemies-slaughter-each-other part of our story of faith, but I've been still, and I know He's God.

And for now, that's enough.

I dislike the smell of Babel in the morning, Part III: in their own words

The following is copied and pasted from the blog of a dear friend, who is 17. He gave me permission to link to it, but I decided to copy and paste, removing some of the names.

"I feel inadequate. In church. I feel out of place and unwanted. I'm not good enough. James 2:1-10 no longer gives me peace. It no longer makes me feel like I can be the bigger man, and push on past my insecurity. It's worn and useless to me.

"Here ya go vultures. I have never been a part of a Christian home. Why did I have long hair? Not because I'm a fag, and not because I'm a hippie. Because my friends liked it. Many of them knew me by it- the way I could hide my eyes behind it and look like a psycho killer seemed to be the only charisma I had- it seemed to thrill them. I was once told that I had the serial killer look going on, and it was awesome. I person told me it looked awesome. So, why not have longer hair? It got me the attention that my fat body and ugly face pushed away from the people os the world.

"And now there are preachers out there who say all boys with long hair are queers. Not as in, unusual. As in, homosexual. As in, flakes. As in, fags.

"Recently, I changed my hairstyle. Apparently, I now have a more manlike haircut. Meaning, my old was more feminine. Did I get my hairstyle out of a queer magazine? No. I got it from my older brother, you pompous piece of jerkface.

"Tonight, my church laughed at me. The guest preacher mocked me. They laughed. He was on a roll about people being excited in church (kicked off by M_____) and he was talking about people who don't get excited enough. He walked over by me, leaned down, and said 'You look enthusiastic.' in that oh-so-sarcastic way. Everyone laughed. Then he proceeded to inform me someday the Holy Spirit will grab hold of me and I'll get excited.

"Congratulations, I think I'm in the process of selling this bitter piece of coal that is my heart to Satan. Hope you sleep well.

"I have never been in a Christian home. Do you know how inadequate you feel when you don't know how to set a table right? You have to be instructed, at the age of 17, how to do some simple task? And how dumb you feel for crying because you didn't know? And it cuts deeper because nobody understands how you don't know to do these simple tasks, like doing the dishes, or vacuuming. It's like I'm a freak.

"I have been told that a man needs to be a real man. Rugged, but sensitive to the Lord's commands. Ahem. 'A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city...' Well, preachers who are in-your-face and mean back themselves up with Psalm 119:165. Well, by assuming everyone you talk to loves God's law, then you also assume that none of them need to be preached at. You cannot preach that a male isn't a man and back it up with this verse, all you're doing is saying they aren't a man, but love God's law?

"Take the better road and don't say offensive things.

"Dear IFB preachers of America, I'm growing weary of the pain and insecurity. I grow weary of your "Bible-based" preaching, and I'm sick of felling like an outcast in my own church.

"Want me to shut up about it? I will. Just keep pushing, and I'll never speak a word inside an IFB church again. I'll pinky promise ya."


Every time I try to put this issue behind me, something else happens.

From the middle of nowhere: or, the kindness of lesbians

Try this one-sentence statement on for size:

My first open conversation with a lesbian occurred as she was giving me a ride to a parts store to pick up an engine belt, after she had stopped to help us when my family and I were stranded next to the highway out in the middle of nowhere.

And I'm almost thirty years old.

So the story begins on the road from Pekin to Kristy's relatives in Winigan, MO. We're on Route 136, about a half hour outside of Keokuk, Iowa, when I hear the sound of the serpentine belt shredding. It sounded like a bird was being chewed up in the fan or something.

I pulled over in a driveway, and from where we were, I couldn't see a house in either direction. I started to walk up the driveway toward the house, when an SUV pulls up, and a woman, and a younger man get out.

"No sense walking up there. She doesn't answer the door," the woman says. "You need help?"

Yes, actually, I do. I explain that something's wrong with the belt, and am not really sure what to do next.

"I have a brother who works on cars," the woman says. "I'll go get 'im."

She gets back into the SUV and pulls away, leaving us with the young man, who turns out to be the woman's son. He takes a look at the belt, talks about heading out for Jeff City in a few hours, talks about who could possibly work on our van on the Saturday before July 4th - he never really stops talking, actually.

In a few minutes, the woman is back with her brother, who takes one look and decides that he can put another belt on, if his sister will run me to the next town, ten miles away, where another sister runs the local parts store.

So I get in the SUV with the woman, who has introduced herself as S____. The whole ten-mileish way, she's pointing out houses: her parents', her brother's, hers and her partner's. We get to town, purchase the belt, and she keeps talking all the way back: out as a lesbian for fifteen years, shunned by people in town until three of their daughters came out, decided to come out after hearing about and visiting a gay bar in Quincy (there's a gay bar in Quincy? It's less than 50,000 people stuck in the middle of a corn field!), and so on. She asks if we can stop at the convenience store, to pick up drinks for the kids and Kristy. Um, sure.

We return to the van, and S____'s brother and son start putting on the belt. It's going fine, until they get to the part where the belt's supposed to be tight, and it's six inches too long. Turns out, the belt had been returned, and the wrong belt was in the right package. So S____ takes Kristy and the kids to her brother's house, where they can play on the trampoline and stuff, while her brother and son and I run back to town to replace the belt. We get back, they put the belt on, it's the right one, we go to the brother's place to pick up everybody, we're back on the road.

For two minutes. Then the belt starts shredding again. Ughh.

We quickly turn around and head back to the brother's house, and then the most amazing thing happens. The brother asks, "Where'd you say you were headed?"

I told him. It was about a ninety-minute drive.

"Well, I got a car trailer. Let me hook it up, and I'll just haul you guys down to a shop."

So the brother loads up my van on his trailer, and now Trey and I are riding with him in his truck, hauling our van to our destination. The brother decides he wants to spend the evening in the big city while he's headed that direction, so he asks S____ to drive his van, which now contains Kristy, Gracie, Derek, the brother's wife and other kids, and follow us to the shop, and then drive the truck back to his house while his family enjoys the evening.

So Kristy's in the van for an hour and a half with S____, her sister-in-law, and a bunch of kids. The conversation turns to God pretty quickly: it starts with "do you guys go to church or something?", and then this moment of I-knew-it-all-along satisfaction when Kristy says that yes, we're Christians, and Mike is a pastor.

So S____ starts talking. She doesn't understand the Bible versions issue. She hasn't been to church since she was ten. She needs to read the Bible more. She's afraid that she and her partner "are doomed before we even open the door" of a church.

And Kristy was able to listen. To point out some places where she should start in reading the Bible. To present the notion that God might actually love her. To present the notion that each person is going to be accountable to God for their behavior. To begin to present a Christ that was not like the one that had formed in her mind. In the words of the Apostle Paul, To sow, perhaps water, trusting God for the increase.

It was an amazing experience. As we pulled in to the shop, I asked S____'s brother what I owed him. "Oh, I might've used twenty bucks worth of gas coming down here. If you could send that along later, that'd help."

I came away thankful. To S____'s brother and family, for going completely out of their way to help a family they'd never seen before. To S____, for giving me the chance to talk to - and listen to - a lesbian. As it turns out, she was a real person too: in need of God's love, looking for something and not even really sure what it is she's looking for, willing to help a complete stranger. I was truly enriched by the experience.

And I was thankful to God, who shredded my belt in the middle of nowhere in the first place.