Black Friday of the Soul

It has a reputation that is different from its meaning. Culture does that to many words. Black Friday is currently associated with a shopping frenzy that you either love or hate. But its root is in the idea that retailers historically operate "in the red" all year until this time of year, and then turn the financial corner out of "red" and "into the black." Many new businesses fail because they do not plan for the long dry season, the months and months of barely squeaking by, the Ramen Noodle and mac/cheese months. If they judge their success in May, they are liable to lock the door. By September, they're adding more water to the Ramen Noodles and calling it soup. But if they can hold on, if they keep doing what they know is right, if they keep fresh stock, keep the doors and windows and bathrooms clean, keep the ads going, keep greeting the customers with a sincere smile and good word, then Black Friday is coming. 

There are parts of my life that seem to be constantly in the red. Certain relationships are not reciprocal, but always seems to be pouring out. I have a job that, on the books, doesn't carry its own, but is a constant pouring out of resources. Oh, there are many rewarding moments, for sure, but if your run numbers on it, it doesn't look profitable. Special Needs Ministry is about pouring out, about investing with little indication of return. But harvest time is coming. Black Friday is coming. 

I'm grateful that I work for a church that invests in this with full knowledge that our season of being in the red is very, very long. But when our Black Friday comes, it will be Christmas for eternity!

Who Cares?

Renters and owners tend to have different perspectives.

For renters, there's a transaction: I pay you, you give me use of this (house, apartment, tool, truck, boat). I use it till I'm done with it, then walk away. For owners, there's an investment: I pay for this, maintain it, fix it and guard it, because it's mine and I want it to last a long time. Someday I may even sell it and will want to get the most out of this investment. 

Then there are managers. Managers have responsibility for something that belongs to someone else. They are charged with caring for the thing the way the owner wants. Like the owner, they go for increasing the value of the thing and for that, they usually reap some personal benefit. It might be a store, an account, a business, an athlete or a musician. Whatever they manage, they are also accountable for. At any point, the owner can say, "I like the way you're doing this," or "Are you kidding me?! You're out of here!" But a good manager, like an owner, takes good care of things.

What's your attitude when you stay in a hotel? Do you make the bed when you leave the room? I might straighten things a bit and pull up the cover, but I know when I come back at the end of the day it will be neat as a pin, because "that's what I pay for," right? At home, though, it's up to me. I make the bed, clean the dishes and the bathroom and the floors and the windows, because it's my place. I'm responsible for it.

Because of folks sharing our space at home for extended times, I catch myself analyzing my frustration over certain situations. Is this a matter of right vs.wrong or just a different way of doing a thing? Is it something to address or to release? After a series of mental questions, it usually comes down to this: I care because it's my home. I've got a long-term view, an investment view, a stewardship view.

But the latest question to plague me is, "What about the earth?" Is my attitude one of a consumer or a steward? I'm starting to feel an urge to embrace a nearby oak. To worship it? No, no more than I would worship the house we and the bank own. But to value it, to try to see its Owner's perspective, to act in the best interest of that Owner.

And to not mock in my heart those who are passionate about its care.

A Moon, Not a Star

Our light shines as the moon’s.  

It is not from within ourselves but is a reflection of the radiance of the sun, whose light cannot be viewed directly, fully, without overwhelming, even blinding.

The moon does not generate its own light.  Staying where God put it, the moon reflects the right amount of light at the right time on the right parts of the earth.

Take care to avoid a spiritual eclipse, where we allow the world to get between us and God, blocking out our source of light, darkening the night.  Maybe worse, do not come between men and God, blocking their view, making their day dark.

You are a moon, not a star.

Photo credit Michael J Boyle

https://sphotos-b-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/406843_4516972613975_569620802_n.jpg

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

I'm a social media fan. I love the connection that it provides, the ability to stay in touch, at some level, with just a few keystrokes and mouse clicks. Post a picture or share a link and hear from friends of friends. Old friends from childhood and college have a window into each other's lives through which they see current joy, smiles and tears. Folks who thrive on connection can make great tools of Twitter, Facebook, blogs and Google+.  

Just like every other area of life, I can look at others and judge them on their Facebook posts. Or lack of same. That teenage girl's pictures are way too suggestive. The guy who never posts anything but only observes is a voyeur. My personal filter affects everything I think or do.

Some folks avoid social media because of privacy concerns. The current Facebook Timeline has gotten lots of comments, positive and negative. It seems that anything you or your "friends" have ever posted is tied into that Timeline. Yes, even the embarrassing things and the lousy photos where you were tagged. "I can't believe how bad my hair looked!" or "Why does he have that smug look on his face?" It's all there, the good, the bad and the ugly. 

I love to have the good posted.  

I would like to delete the bad and the ugly.

However, as Timeline so rudely points out, there is a lot to one's life.

The Scriptures tell us that one day everything will be laid bare, exposed for what it truly is. Even if I never Tweet and manage to avoid being captured through the lens of someone's Friend, every moment of my life is on record, every happy or desperate  thought in the middle of the night, and the true intent of my heart when I present a smile on Sunday morning. It will all be subject to judgment by two standards. One is the standard by which I have judged others. (Ouch!) The other is the standard of the Blood. That Blood is a standard of love, and I take comfort in that, but that love cost so much more than I can comprehend.

It's So Obvious In the Morning

In our kitchen we have two tiny windows, one on either side of the stove. We had to special-order them, not because we absolutely loved their uniqueness but because I wanted cross-ventilation and the available space was very small. So hubby, to please wife, spent more money on these ten inch square panes that he did on the huge window over the sink. We were both pleased with the result, especially on the cool days when I can slide them open and enjoy the benefit we had in mind seventeen years ago.

What I did not anticipate was the brilliance of morning light that pours through these tiny openings most mornings. I keep a cut-glass vase on one window sill and it reflects the single sunbeam in so many directions it can be blinding. But the biggest surprise is the mess on the counters. Not mess from the light, but mess that the light exposes. How can that be there? I know I cleaned it last night. Or Ray did. Or one of the kids who cooked late in the evening. We do that. We wash the dishes and wipe down the stove and counters. Did someone come in and rub grease is circles on the counter top or sprinkle just a bit of salt by the back splash? If I'm going to have fairies visit, could they not clean up instead of mess up?

The problem is that we clean up in relative darkness. Sure, the overhead light is on, but that's not the same as the morning beams. I'm tired at the end of the day, more tired after preparing the meal and doing the dishes, and the efforts to clean the counters are routine. But in the morning beams every crevice is illuminated. The angle of the sunlight's entry lights up even dust particles. It's all right there out in the open.

So now I have a choice. Go back and clean more effectively with the benefit of this divinely placed light or turn my back to it so that it doesn't bother me and by midday I will forget it is even there.

Just Keep Your Feet Moving

I stepped back in time last week.

The feeling was familiar as I opened the door to a different room that contained memories and fears and encouragement and hope. A small group of ladies meets twice a week in an unmarked room upstairs in our church. They pray and encourage and motivate and commiserate. My 12-stepper friends think you know where I was last week, but I doubt it.

This little band of mighty warriors goes by the name Firm Believers. I suspect I could survey 500 people entering our church Sunday morning and not find one who knows of this ministry that reaches women at a point of need and stretches them toward health, strength and submission of the body to its Maker, all to the beat of contemporary worship music.

It's not a new ministry. I don't know when Firm Believers first organized but it was through their door that I was introduced to Idlewild 23 years ago. My neighbor Sallie invited me to join her in working off the remainder of our pregnancy weight gain after the birth of our boys.

I stayed on the back row then, as I've done the last two weeks. The rhythm gene was deleted from my DNA at least several generations ago. I never learned to dance and even when you call it choreography, I have to plead ignorance. It was embarrassing 23 years ago. Not that anyone made fun of me. They just told me to keep my feet moving. The told me not to worry about the disparity between my movements and the movement I was seeing on the front row. Just keep my feet moving.

My memory cannot recall how long I stuck with it all those years ago, but I suspect not long, because my own internal level of discomfort probably made me run and hide. But no longer. I still stick out like a sore thumb but I know that's okay. I'll get better with time. I may never have the grace and mid-life beauty of the women on the front row but that's okay. I'll keep my feet moving. And someday I might just stay in rhythm for a whole one song! My body will be stronger. The scale will be happier. My soul will be richer for the trust built in this community of Firm Believers.

And I'll keep my feet moving.

Confessions of my Yeahbut

This week several friends shared link to a sweet video about a man with visible disability who owns a business. In the video we see him doing the things he does best: encouraging, hugging, speaking love into people's lives. This business is a dream fulfilled for him. It is definitely a feel-good video. 

Then my Yeahbut kicked in, the part of me that questions things, that pokes around at the surface to find the underside. Sometimes I discover the ugly beneath the beautiful. Sometimes I discover the beautiful beneath the ugly. One thing is fairly certain: There is always more than meets the eye.

This time the Yeahbut proposed, "Yeah, but I bet he doesn't really run it, he's just the face. I bet that there are people propping him up, doing the serious work of management, administration and production, all those real business matters. He's just the face. I bet Daddy set him up in this so that he can have a sense of purpose, so he can have a fulfilling job. I bet Daddy has real business people surrounding his son. His son just looks like he's running the place." 

Those are pretty nasty thoughts for someone who works in the world of disabilities and special needs. Go ahead. Spit on me. It gets worse. I've had similar thoughts sometimes about the clips of a kid with autism scoring the winning points in a game or a guy in a wheelchair being pushed across the finish line by his brother. I love these videos and share them with others, but the Yeahbut kicks in more often than I want to admit.

Today God did not leave me in the Yeahbuts. He took me further. He let me see something rich about Himself.

Isn't this what my Abba does for me? I have a certain composition that He gave me. To many, including myself, the most obvious parts are weakness. He gave me this set of physical, emotional, intellectual DNA and has seen what I can and cannot do. He has "set me up in business" and provided all sorts of supports around me to prop me up in my weakness, to enable me to feel a sense of purpose, a reason to get up in the morning, an opportunity to demonstrate love.  I look at at the good parts of my life and occasionally think, "This is great. I'm doing XYZ," when actually I'm just seeing the token surface of a huge team of truly skilled people who bring their strengths to do what I only dream I am doing. 

Like the young man in the video I watched more than once this week, I'll tell you that I'm getting to live my dream. Yes, that's true, but it is at great cost to my Father that I get to live that dream. He props me up with a variety of needed supports and delights to watch me thrive. 

Maybe He is the Yeahbut God.