You Are Cordially Invited

Most days, I’m deeply aware of the benefits of our lifestyle.  Schooling at home gives us tremendous flexibility to take advantage of a myriad of rich experiences.  Books read aloud routinely become family friends, and recess often takes the form of digging in the creek or building forts outside.  Fidgety boys take basketball breaks when needed, and my crafty girl creates throughout the day.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Usually.

Several weeks ago, I hastily became quite knowledgeable about the admission procedures and tuition for the private schools in our area.   I also paid particular attention to the big yellow bus schedule, and took note that there were plenty of available seats.  My mind began to construct a new schedule for myself – one that included long runs and a home with preordained periods of quiet.  Yes, it was one of those weeks.  And my commentary has nothing to do with school choice.  It has everything to do with the motivation behind all of my, well all of our, choices.

I don’t want to be selfish.  I don’t want to become angry with my kids, short-tempered with my husband, or aloof with my friends.  I want to be more.  I want to be patient, kind, and other-centered.  But last week, I wasn’t having much luck.  And rather than deal with the mounting evidence that I was the problem, I found myself wanting to sweep it under the carpet.  Or more accurately, put it on the bus and send it away.

Voices were competing for my attention and energy.  There were the high-pitched needs of the children, the muted desires of my husband, and the emphatically heated debate between self-justification and self-contempt that raged inside of me.  But somewhere in the midst of the mental and emotional chaos, I heard that still small voice.

I’m inviting you to more.

When your children’s needs outweigh your capacity to give,

I’m inviting you to grow in dependence.

When your tired husband returns from a trip, and you want his help more than you want him,

I’m inviting you to grow in selflessness.

When you’ve been treated unfairly and want to retaliate (or withdraw),

I’m inviting you to grow in kindness.

When customer service eats up half your day then drops your call,

the guy selling pine needles interrupts dinner, 

and the dog ruins the living room rug (again),

I’m inviting you to grow in patience.

When a friend disappoints out of her own insecurities or fears,

I’m inviting you to grow in faithfulness.

When there are mounting bills, 
piles of laundry, 
sick children and weary hearts,

I’m inviting you to grow in joy.

When  you're heartbroken, and even angry, that life doesn’t look like you had hoped,

I’m inviting you to grow in peace.

And lastly…

When you realize that the problem isn’t your needy kiddos (or schooling choice),

Or your husband,

Or your friends,

Or your life situation,

Or those annoying people who interrupt your day,

It’s your own selfish heart,

But I’m not condemning you…

I’m inviting you to grow in love.

Unlikely Places

He had traded in his Armani suit for a bright orange jumper.  Rather than dining at five star restaurants, he now waited in line for standard institutional meals.  His daily interactions no longer took place in the oak-paneled boardroom, for his domain had been reduced to a ten by ten foot cell.  He had worked his way through school, climbed the corporate ladder from the bottom rung, and had arrived at a coveted position of wealth and status.  But through the years, the cocktail of success had numbed his conscience.  He was abruptly awakened from his drunken stupor as the cell door clanged shut. The echo resonating down the long cement corridor served as a haunting reminder of his long chain of life-changing choices. 

Although he had traveled throughout the world, this was a foreign country for which he could not have time to prepare. He sat quietly digesting every morsel of information that would help him understand this new land.  The culture, language and customs of this place were alien to the life he had known.

His new neighbor, an intimidating hulk of a man, had gained his citizenship through taking the life of another.  He observed that very same man tenderly giving his new, hard-labored-for shoes to one who needed them more.  Time after time, he witnessed acts of kindness, selflessness, and courage within this world set apart from acceptable society.  He slowly discovered that all he had previously believed about “these people” was not accurate.  Yes, they had made poor, often devastating choices, yet in each man resided a more complex story.  Another side.  Alongside the obvious, well-documented depravity was the irrefutable existence of dignity.

Over time, his relationships shifted from that of outcast to friend, and he grew to love these criminals.  These undesirables.  These prodigals.  Together, they had found the strange peace that comes when many layers worn in the world are stripped away, and the naked truth remains. Life’s circumstances had leveled the playing field for these men of extremely diverse backgrounds.  There was no plotting to manipulate the future.  No fortune to be made or social ladder to climb.  No pretense.  No attempts to explain or defend. Locked away behind bars, he was able to find freedom.

The countdown of years droned on, one slow minute following another.  From the outside, his life looked painfully monotonous compared to the stimulating world that he once knew.  Yet the simplicity of his days allowed space for movement and growth of a different kind.  He found and spoke words of truth about the realities of his life without fear of judgment or condemnation.  As his scrambling to control and manipulate life was no longer a viable strategy, there was an ease and relief that settled in his soul.  Room was made for a new inhabitant – One who would never leave nor forsake.   One who restores the years that poor choices have taken.  One who makes all things new.


Trapped in the worst of situations, there was no way out. 


He lost all that he had in the world.  


He gained Life.

*******  

"You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope.  With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you.  Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less.  That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God.  He’s the food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

You’re blessed when you care.  At the moment of being “care-full,” you find yourselves cared for.

You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight.  That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family. 

You’re blessed when you get your inside world – your mind and heart – put right.  Then you can see God in the outside world. 

You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution.  The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom. .”  

The Message

Blogmosis

Blog⋅mo⋅sis – noun  1. the tendency of knowledge, wisdom, talent, or status in life, to pass through a barrier (computer screen or book) from those who have to those who want, thus equalizing the knowledge, wisdom, talent and state of life of both parties.

*****

Recently, a friend of mine was in the midst of a particularly difficult season of marriage.  While trying to find evidence of folks who had gone through similar trials and come out the other side, she discovered a blog that offered great hope.  The authors’ marriage had survived the worst of offenses, yet they had labored through regaining trust and rebuilding relationship.  They offered hope that marriage could indeed survive the darkest of seasons.  As we talked through the pros and cons of following such a blog while she was in the early stages of rebuilding her own marriage, a possible danger surfaced:  blogmosis.  The tendency to read about the life of another, and hope that in doing so, our own journey will take a similar path.  She coined the term, by the way.  Clever, huh?

On some level, we all hope that blogmosis will occur in our own lives.  We seek comfort, wisdom, enlightenment and assurance as we walk through disappointments and challenges in life.  The sources to which we look may vary – a blog, book, speaker, or friend can offer hope that their story may rub off on ours.  We want to know that someone else has traveled this road and succeeded, and perhaps their good fortune will bleed into ours.

No doubt, the stories of those who’ve gone before us can offer hope and direction.  Yet all too often, the line is blurred when we desire that another’s story becomes our story.  I want what another has. Ever so stealthily, legitimate desire mutates into coveting that which is not meant for me.  

In the scientific realm, osmosis is defined as the tendency of water in salt water to flow across a barrier from an area of low concentration to an area of high concentration until both sides of the barrier reach equilibrium.  Similarly, the propensity toward blogmosis can only be prevented when we reach a state of equilibrium as we relate to the lives of others...

~When we choose to believe that our unique journey in life is equal in value to that of all others

~When we accept that the individuality of our own story holds infinite dignity 

~When we can be inspired, challenged, or convicted by the journey of another, yet still rest in believing that we are created with unique talents and abilities to be used for specific purpose

~When we attempt to view our lives not through our own eyes but from the eyes of our wise, perfect, incapable-of-error Creator 

~ When we focus not on the life that we would like to have, but on the life that we have been given

I’m grateful for the stories of those around me, and for the vast array of technology that gives unlimited, immediate access.  When kept in proper perspective, they can give me a glimpse of the greater story for which I was made.  Yet as with any good thing, the best can be twisted into the destructive.  I can't live my life fully if I'm trying to replicate someone else's.

I want to see clearly.

I want to be wise.

I want to be content....
I want to live fully in my own story.

*******

"Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life; everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfillment. Therein he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated, thus, everyone's task is unique as his specific opportunity to implement it."  Viktor Frankl

Left Behind

It’s been a hard few months.  Yesterday provided an almost humorous dot at the end of the exclamation point.  As I reclined in the dentist’s chair, my distaste for the relentless shriek of his drill could only be outdone by the aromatic waft of chiseled tooth.   I wasn’t sure if I would laugh or cry as I took account of the past several weeks.  Due to the congestion pooling in the back of my throat, I decided that neither response would improve the situation.  Rendered unable to do much else, I couldn’t help but recount the toll that the fall (and The Fall) had taken on our family.

Sometime in mid-October, I developed a cough that decided it didn't want to leave.  Without going into extensive detail (which I’m happy to do for any medical professional who cares to offer an opinion), I’ll share that I’ve now been coughing and generally feeling crummy for three months.  Which means that I haven’t been sleeping for three months.  Add to the formula a colony of “little friends” (term affectionately coined by my husband) had taken up permanent residency in my daughter’s hair, significant parenting challenges with multiple kids,  a particularly full home at Christmas, a son who had been up the entire night due to an ear infection (seriously? I though we were way past those), and now a broken tooth.   I’d say that I needed that like a hole in the head but…   well, it all starts feeling like a bad joke.

I’m acutely aware that the challenges I’ve faced in the last months are minor compared to those of so many.  I don’t have a serious illness, I have an amazingly supportive family, and we’re able to procure medical help when needed.  Nevertheless, there has been a modicum of grief.  I’ve missed a dear friend’s baby shower and first baby being born, I couldn’t help another friend through a move, my cherished time reading aloud with my children has been limited significantly, and I haven’t been able to exercise in months.  I’ve grown weary of waiting for life to return to normal, and have experienced a strange sadness as life for those around me has continued without my involvement.  I feel like a spectator watching the parade go by, only to be left behind.

There are many ways we experience being left behind.  Illness, the intense needs of young children (or aging parents), significant struggles in marriage, shame from the past, and disappointment in friendships only to name a few.  Everyone else seems to be happily marching along - at least if we believe the one-dimensional messages we receive via Christmas newsletters, Facebook updates, and in cordial conversations in the hallway at church.  We place our hope in life “returning to normal” and wait for the storms, and for the loneliness they often produce, to pass.

But perhaps there is a greater gift to be gleaned than the return to normalcy…

“…as long as you keep pointing to the specifics, you will miss the full meaning of your pain.  You will deceive yourself into believing that if the people, circumstances, and events had been different, your pain would not exist.  This might be partly true, but the deeper truth is that the situation which brought about your pain was simply the form in which you came in touch with the human condition of suffering.  Your pain is the concrete way in which you participate in the pain of humanity.”  Henri Nouwen

I believe that this challenging season of life will not be wasted.  My hope is that I will develop eyes to see more keenly others who feel left behind, ears to appreciate the more subtle music of those around me, and a heart that will be softened and enabled to love more deeply.  Both the in the small inconveniences in life and in the large tragedies, there is greater purpose.

So if you find yourself watching the parade pass you by, take heart. Know that even in our loneliness, we are not alone.  And one day, we will gather together at the ultimate celebration, under the Great Banner, when everything sad will indeed come untrue. 

Twin Towers and a Manger

Out of the wreckage...

Where were you?


I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom holding my beautiful  one-week-old son.  We had only been home from the hospital for a few days, and I was fully intoxicated with the sweet smells of newly-bathed baby, the feel of his slow, steady breathing on my neck, and the slight, warm pressure of eight pounds of perfection curled up and sleeping on my chest.  My two year old was playing contentedly in the corner with his plastic pet shop, a left-over rediscovered toy, compliments of his big sister.  Having been up most of the night, I had traded in my feeble attempt at reading a book for watching Regis and Kelly on the TV.  The air drifting through my cracked window carried with it the hint of the last days of summer.   Life was sweet.  Simple.  Full.


Then it happened.  Within moments, life as we had known it would be changed forever.  It was September 11, 2001, and my dependable, soothing slice of broadcasted Americana was suddenly interrupted with footage of the first plane hitting the tower.  I couldn't believe what I had seen, and I certainly had no idea the lasting impact that the events of that balmy September morning would have on our nation.  On our family.  On the lives of generations to come.  Literally out of the blue, we had all been affected at the most visceral level.


According to a ten-year anniversary article "How 9/11 Changed our Culture" (US News),  our lives were changed in a number of ways including:


~How we speak
~What we fear
~How we keep safe
~What entertains us
~What we read
~Who we admire


We would never look at the world in the same way, and the choices we made going forward would reflect our shift in perspective.


Over 2,000 years ago, the Roman Empire was enjoying a relatively peaceful political climate compliments of the Pax Romana.  The Empire protected and governed its provinces, and the Jewish religion was generally tolerated.  Although there were divisions within the Jewish schools of thought, most had learned to live peacefully under Roman control.  Life was manageable.  They knew what to expect.


Then, one very normal night, the course of history changed forever.  There had been no word from God in over 400 years.  But suddenly, that changed.  At a given point in time, in an unimpressive town, to two ordinary people, the Creator of the world transcended space and time to pierce through the veil between heaven and earth and become one of us.  Literally out of the dark, we would all be affected at the most visceral level.


For those who were present that night and witnessed the divine becoming human, for those who would follow the carpenter's son and listen to his teaching, and for those who would choose to exchange control of their lives in order to serve the unlikely king, the world as they had known it would forever be different.


They would never look at the world the same way, and the choices they would make going forward would reflect their shift in perspective.


A few months ago, we commemorated the tenth anniversary of 9/11.  Footage of the planes was dusted off and replayed across the airwaves, memorial services were held, and we all paused to remember.  As I was recounting that pivotal day's events to my sweet baby boy, now 10 years old, I found that a curious phenomenon had transpired.  On the spectrum that ranges from intense experience all the way to detached, my emotion had shifted a few notches.  I'm sure that if I'd lost a loved one during the tragedy, my reaction would have been different.  But for me, the events that had once singed my soul had been quenched through the last ten years, and they were incrementally closer to becoming memorable dates in an American history book.


Time had lessened the emotional impact.  I had become more detached.  The full impact of 9/11 had been diminished.


Unfortunately, the same can often be said of Christmas.


We mark the calendar, attend the performances, religiously decorate our homes, and pause to remember. 


But I long for more.


~I want to feel deeply... not just remember
~I want to look at the world from His perspective... not my limited viewpoint
~I want to believe that the God of the universe is present, relevant, revolutionary in every aspect of my life

Ten years ago, darkness penetrated and impacted the soul of our country.

Two thousand years ago, Light penetrated our dark world and changed it forever.

Yes, we remind one another that he came as a baby in the manger.  The shepherds followed the star.  The wise men came later, bearing gifts.  


But this Christmas, let us not be satisfied to "just remember."  Rather than settling for an annual observation filled with the good things of sentiment, warm tidings, advent readings and tradition, let them serve to magnify the ultimate things.  Perhaps it would help to remember...


Where were you?  


When the story became real.  When you first believed.  When the Maker of the moon and the Author of the faith penetrated your independent, self-reliant heart and changed it forever.  I was on a stone bench overlooking a small lake.  It was late at night, but I could strain my eyes just enough to see white swans gliding through the water - beacons of light in the midst of the dark.  Because of the baby born so long ago, my life was forever changed. And I never want to forget.

~~~~~~~~~~

I first heard Jill Phillips sing this three years ago on The Behold the Lamb of God tour, and I still get chills every time I hear it.  Take a few minutes to listen...

A Visit from the Tooth Fairy

Twas the month before Christmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring...

...unless you count the faintest sound of delicate wings fluttering through the air, down the hall, and under the door into my daughter's room.  The tiny sprite hovered over a stuffed Tooth Fairy Bear, which had gotten quite comfortable in a doll's chair.  His work had been sparse as of late, but the little girl with a mouth full of teeth finally called upon his service a few nights ago.  Caroline's baby tooth, which had managed to evade being pushed out by its replacement,  had snuggled tightly out of sight behind her new gleaming white grown-up tooth.  I'd begun to worry that her dental fate would be the same as that of a Yorkie puppy, with 2 complete sets of teeth, row behind row. 


Alas, the baby tooth had released its grip, the Tooth Fairy Bear was summoned from the back of the cluttered closet, and my plucky little seven year old set out on a mission.  In her best handwriting, she carefully crafted a note to the Tooth Fairy.  She wanted to know if the Tooth Fairy was real, and what she (or he) did with the collected teeth.


Just as Santa's gift creation, selection, and distribution habits differ from family to family, the same is true of the Tooth Fairy.  For some children she leaves notes, for others, small presents, coins, or other tokens of great value.  She knows our family well, and as a result, leaves behind carefully selected and signed books in exchange for outgrown teeth.  In addition to inscribing Caroline's new book, she noted a few of the most common fairy uses for children's teeth.  

Rather than satisfying her inquiring mind, the correspondence fueled the fire of Caroline's curiosity.  She spent the better part of the next morning using her very best penmanship to compose the following:

Dear Tooth Fary- 

 Are you small or larg?

 What do you eat?

 Wher do you live?  

 What do you do with your dust?

 What are your magic pours?

 Are you a boy or girl or wimon or man?

 Do you have randbow bridge?

 What is your name?

 Do you have pets?

 Do you have a house?

                                             Love, Caroline

The following day, she awoke to find the following letter penned on lilac fairy stationary leaning against her Tooth Fairy Bear:

 

Dear Caroline,  

Thank you for my note. Again, you’ve done a lovely job with your handwriting. 

You asked me several good questions. Sometimes in the Land of Fairies, we answer good questions by asking good questions back. For example: “Is Narnia real?” Let me know what you think, after you decide. 

Someday, Caroline, you may grow too big for me. You’ll have your big girl teeth and you won’t think of me too often. But, you will never grow too big for Jesus. No matter how old you get, He will become more wonderful and more real to you as each year passes. You can never outgrow Him. Ever. 

If I fade, Jesus will become brighter to you. And if I become smaller, He will become larger. His adventures are exciting, His gifts are beautiful, and the friendship that you have with Him will last your whole life… even beyond. His is the best story of all, and I am happy for mine to help you to find it. 

In fact, that’s why I’m here, and why Santa and the Easter Bunny exist. Our job, you see, is a lot like the job of Mr. Beaver in Narnia—we point you to the King. 

I can’t answer all of your very good questions, but I’m happy to answer a few.  Indeed, I do love to eat spiffiny drumkies, but not too many or it’s hard for me to fly.  I live wherever I am.  I don’t have pets, but there are many creatures that are my friends, like snicket jumpers and peffiny lumkets.  But, they are too small and too fast for little girls to see. 

Now, if you wouldn’t mind answering a question for me, I could also use some help. Someone once told me that little girls are made of sugar, and spice, and everything nice—and that little boys were made of snakes, and snails, and puppy dog tails. Is that for real? 

                                                           Love, The Tooth Fairy

~~~~~~~~~~

It should be noted that the above-mentioned letter looks suspiciously like the letter from Santa written to Rebecca Reynold's daughter years ago.  Although I was initially shocked at this discovery, I eventually realized that of course Santa is far better with words than the Tooth Fairy.  His work is quite seasonal, so he has ample time in which to read books and refine his writing.   The Tooth Fairy, on the other hand, is in constant demand throughout the year.  Given Santa's generous nature, he had given his permission for the original letter to be tweaked accordingly. 


With that in mind, if you have any children (young or old) who doubt the reality of the Tooth Fairy, or Santa, or any of their friends, perhaps his letter can be of use.

Wishing a Merry Christmas to all

And to all a good night!

Houston, We Have a Problem

Taken from Apollo 13 during the crisis

Last weekend, we watched Apollo 13 with our younger boys for the first time.  I’ve seen it before, but what a treat to see it through their eyes.  Together, we felt the eager anticipation of three astronauts who had labored throughout their careers with the ultimate goal in mind – to walk on the surface of the moon.   Since the inaugural landing had taken place months earlier, Americans were no longer captivated by the endeavor.  What had once seemed unimaginable had quickly become last year's news.  For the astronauts of Apollo 13, however, their eyes were fixed on the goal.  It was to be their turn.  

The entire team of engineers, astronauts, and those on ground control had planned for every conceivable contingency.  They knew that problems could arise, and they had planned accordingly.  Early in their flight, a mishap did indeed occur.  They took it in stride, then were grateful that “our glitch for the mission was over.”  Within minutes, however, everything changed.  “Houston, we have a problem.”  

 The story rapidly unfolded as the three astronauts realized that their ultimate goal of walking on the moon was no longer a possibility.  In fact, it became clear that their return to earth would be somewhat of a miracle.    We were drawn into their tight quarters, felt the loss of power, and more acutely, the loss of control.  No one had conceived that such a multi-system failure could occur.  There was no contingency plan for a disaster of this magnitude.  In the midst of the crisis, they were all forced to disband the plan for what should have been, and to go back to the proverbial drawing board.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”  I’ve said it.  Perhaps you have as well.  We anticipate disruptions in life.  We know they can happen and plan accordingly.  We buy the right insurance, secure the right job, marry the right person, and discipline our kids according the philosophy of the day. We’re not naive – we know that we’ll have our glitches along the way, but acknowledge piously that those problems will make us stronger.  Until one very ordinary day, we’re not facing another malfunction to be repaired, but have suddenly found ourselves drifting in space as the result of a potentially lethal explosion.  We certainly didn’t see it coming, and couldn’t possibly have planned our own remedy in advance.

~Death of a loved one

~Infidelity

~A defiant, rebellious child

~Serious Illness

~Loss of financial security

We travel through life anticipating our own version of walking on the moon – the day when all of our hard work will finally pay off.  But in the blink of an eye, everything can change…

Houston, we have a problem.

As the crew became aware of the situation’s severity, a chain reaction of emotion was instigated.  Within minutes, there was an awareness that the pinnacle for which they had trained through the years, would never be reached.  They would not walk on the moon.  This realization brought with it gut-wrenching grief as life-long dreams literally disappeared into vapor. 

Then came the dramatic shift. 

They had to leave behind the dream of “what should have been” in order to accept “what actually was.”

It was only after that pivotal decision that they were able to move forward.  The goal of walking on the moon, which had once felt paramount, instantly became insignificant.  Perspective had changed radically.  The chance of survival was slim.

Alone, they were helpless.  Completely at the mercy of the ground crew which was working frantically to come up with a solution, the astronauts had to wait.  In silence.  In darkness.  In the cold.  Have you been there?  I have, and it’s a terrifying to be thrust into the reality of our own limitations.  

They had to reorient themselves:

~by scrapping the original plan

~by redefining their goal

~by letting go of control and following the direction of another

After days of peril and excruciating uncertainty, the astronauts were successfully brought back home.  That which had once seemed routine became priceless.  Not one of the three ever walked on the moon, but as they let go of "what should be," they were free to discover the miracle of what actually was.

“This could be the worst disaster NASA’s ever faced,” lamented the NASA Program Director.  True.  But not the end of the story.  The Flight Director responded, “With all due respect, sir, I believe this is gonna be our finest hour.”  

And it was. 

From the ashes of great crisis, beauty can indeed rise.

And one day, we've been promised, that it will.

~~~~~~~~~~

Intensive investigation revealed that the near-fatal malfunction was a result of a production error 4 years prior to the Apollo 13 flight.  Any blame-shifting or finger pointing during the crisis had been misplaced.  It became clear that the error was not caused by either the astronauts on board or the crew on the ground.  They were all the unfortunate heirs of a pre-existing faulty condition.  

Paul in 2 Corinthians 4: 8 says: "We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair."

*The word for perplexed in the original means "no way through" and the word for despair is the same word intensified meaning " utterly without any way through".

We can trust the Lord to find a way through for us in all circumstances so that whereas we may be stumped, not seeing any way forward though our problems, He will never let us be persuaded that there is absolutely no way through. He will keep us from despair. He will provide the promised way out. (1 Cor 10:13 )

*Borrowed from Ieuan LLoyd-Jones 

Lessons from the Master: A Study in Contrast

The grande marble halls were lined with majestic columns standing guard.  Although my steps were steady and dignified, I had to work hard to contain my right-before-present-opening-Christmas-morning giddiness.  Then it finally happened.  After months of anticipation, a budding (albeit one-sided) friendship was culminated.  I found myself face to face with my first Rembrandt.

I knew that the collection would be focused on the life of Jesus, but didn't know what specific paintings we would be viewing.  As we finally turned the corner and entered the exhibit,  The Woman Taken in Adultery commanded center stage.  I'm not generally quick to become teary-eyed, but in that particular moment, I found myself struggling to appear only appropriately, moderately interested.

The Woman Taken in Adultery by Rembrandt

So much about the painting is captivating.  The richness of color,  diverse cast of characters, anachronistic costumes, and barely distinguishable shapes lurking in the darkness create a scene steeped in tension and drama.  But perhaps the most startling artistic element, that which is so very Rembrantesque, is the way in which light and composition are used to guide the viewer's eye methodically through the story.  We're drawn immediately to the woman... then to the Source of Light.... and eventually back through the crowd ultimately leading to the Jewish officials.


I know enough about art (very little) to be dangerous.  But this is what I do know...

Oil paint applied to a simple 3 ft X 2 ft  oak canvas 367 years ago brilliantly summarizes the ministry of Jesus, as well as the world that he came to rescue.

Take a long look into the painting.  You'll be touched in different places of the heart than am I.  I wish we could stroll through the gallery together, pause, reflect, and process our experience over a hot cup of Starbucks.  As you'd share with me, I'd be given the gift of seeing the painting with different eyes.  Here are a few of my own observations that in turn, I'd share with you:

~Light is experienced most intensely in the presence of darkness.  

~We labor to hide our deepest, darkest selves from others.  But look into the painting.  Ultimate rest and blessing are a result of stepping into the light.

~Those lurking in the shadows "have it all together" in the eyes of their world - they are the bankers, lawyers, board members, elders of the church.  They spend their lives grateful that they aren't needy.  They have figured out how to make life work, and aren't about to let their hard-earned stability be disrupted.

~The folks "in charge" have colluded to trap the woman... in order to trap Jesus... yet he turns the tables.  The people or circumstances which seem to have control over our lives serve merely as a backdrop for real life.  There is only one who holds the position of ultimate authority.  And he is good.. 

~The woman caught has no defense.  She is guilty.  Blame shifting isn't an option.  All pretense, social standing, worldly security is doomed, and she has absolutely no control over the situation.   She is at the mercy of another.

The Woman Taken in Adultery is a study of contrasts:


Between pride and humility
Between judgement and grace
Between self-sufficiency and dependency
Between control and brokenness

The Woman Taken in Adultery summarizes the entire ministry of Jesus:

"He disturbs the comfortable, and comforts the disturbed." Tim Keller

Daily, we're given the choice of where we insert ourselves into the painting.  If we're really honest, most of us spend more time lurking in the shadows rather than giving up the control required to bask in the warmth of life and grace.

Are you willing to look into the painting?  
Where would you place yourself?  
Where do you want to be?

Yes, my new friend, Rembrandt, has given me a new perspective from which I can hope to see myself a bit more accurately.  As I discover dark areas in my life of which I've been previously unaware, I find that I'm guilty as well - of pride, judgement, self-sufficiency and control.  And I can't shift the blame.  Yet when I'm willing to risk exposure and emerge from the shadows,  I'm grateful to find grace, not judgement.  From the one who is ultimately in charge.  Who has all authority.  Who is good.  Who came to earth to rescue his children from the darkness of despair, sickness, broken relationships, and loneliness.  Who came to shatter the dark with light, rescue the lost, and redeem the broken. 

Sometimes we need friends to point us in the right direction... and sometimes a work of art does the trick.
    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although we weren't allowed to take pictures during our visit to the Rembrandt exhibit, we were able to bring home some beautiful sketches from three different portraits of Jesus.

by Caroline - age 7

by Sam - age 10

by Will - age 12

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few resources to consider if you'd like to begin your own adventure with Rembrandt:


The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming by Henri Nouwen
     Highly recommended.  This was my introduction to Rembrandt, and one of the few books I own that I've read more than once.


How Rembrandt Reveals Your Beautiful, Imperfect Self by Roger Housden
     Worth a read.  I'm at the end of this book, and it's given me much about which to think.


The Night Watch: Adventure with Rembrandt by Isabelle Lawrence
     This is a piece of historical fiction which takes place in Rembrandt's home and studio while he is commissioned to paint the Night Watch - a fun read with children). This book is out of print, but fairly easily found on Amazon or addall.com used books.


Art Museums for the Uninitiated by Russ Ramsey
     A great article about venturing into the world of art.


Rembrandt in America exhibit at the NC Museum of Art in Raleigh
     Coming November thru January


Picture Study Portfolios by Emily Cottrill
     A practical, easy to use method of becoming familiar with great artists and their work.  Each portfolio comes with a portrait and biography of the artist, eight laminated full-color works by the artist, step-by-step instructions for doing a picture study and recommended books for additional learning.  This methodology and information are equally applicable for adults and children.


My own meanderings:
Lessons from the Master:  Rembrandt's Self-Portraits and Me
Lessons from the Master: Freedom from Ties that Bind


*If the resources listed are helpful to you, please let me know, and I'll be sure to include such a list in the future when appropriate.

Along the Road - Hutchmoot 2011

I'm a lover of life.  A glass-is-half-full girl.  A believer in ideals.  But life can be really, really hard.  And if it's not hard for me at the moment, chances are, it is for one (or many) of those close to me.  Over time, I've had the honor of walking with folks who were navigating through some treacherous territory.  They didn't see it coming, and weren't sure they'd be able to find the way out.  I've been there a time or two.  And I bet, so have you.  Thank goodness we're all here to stumble, sprint, roam, crawl, dance, climb, skip, limp and wade through life together.

In returning from my weekend at Hutchmoot, I've been pondering how and what to report back to those who've graciously shown interest.  This is my attempt.  For starters, it may be helpful to address the etymology of the name.  

Hutch - n.  A coop for the housing of small animals, especially rabbits.  

Moot - n.  An ancient English meeting, especially a meeting of the free men of a shire.  v. To discuss

Hutchmoot is the convening of 100ish music, art, Lewis and Tolkien-loving folks, many who have met virtually in the Rabbit Room. Hutchmoot is more of a family gathering than a conference.  It offers community rather than instruction.  Its intent is to inspire and enjoy rather than to equip.  

Upon returning from my weekend away, our family resumed reading Dangerous Journey, which is a beautifully illustrated retelling of Pilgrim's Progress. The story begins by introducing Christian, who carries a heavy burden upon his back.  He works with it.  He sleeps with it.  He can find no relief.  In an effort escape from certain doom, Christian embarks upon an odyssey of discovery that leads him through great peril, uncertainty, and pivotal  choices.  During his travels, he meets a variety of fellow-travelers.  Some of them, such as Obstinate, Pliable, Worldly Wiseman and Mr. Legality offer a plethora of counsel to Christian.  Their counsel, however, is unhelpful at best and near-fatal at worst.

One broad road turned to the left;  another broad road turned to the right;  while the narrow road went straight on - up the great black back of the Hill called difficulty.  Which one would they choose?  Formalist chose to go to the left, which led him into a dark wood.  Did he but know it, the road was call Danger, and he lost his way for ever.  Hypocrisy chose to go to the right, which led him into rough ground, full of holes and hummocks.  Did he but know it, the road was called Destruction.  Here he stumbled and fell, and rose no more.  As for Christian, he paused and drank at a spring to refresh himself.  Then after looking both ways, he started briskly straight up the hill.

Others join Christian and impact his journey in quite a different way.  Evangelist points him in the right direction.  The Interpreter helps him gain understanding.  Faithful, who has fought quite different battles from those Christian experienced, offers encouragement and fellowship along the way.

So I saw in my dream that he made great haste.  But as he drew nearer, he could hear in the darkness the roaring of the lions.  The only way forward was along a narrow passage, which was about a furlong from the porter's lodge.  This, he knew, was the place from which Mistrust and Timorous had fled.  And Christian was never so near to running back after them.  But the porter at the lodge, whose name was Watchful, perceiving now that Christian made a halt, cried out:   "Is your strength so small?  Fear not the lions.  They are on long chains.  If you keep strictly to the beam of light, in the center of the path, they cannot reach you."  So Christian moved on.  He took good heed to the directions of the porter.  At the same time, he trembled for fear of the lions, for now they were on either side of him, straining at their chains.  And how they roared, and snapped at him!  And how they tried to catch him by the foot!

Although the characters are prototypical, I can see myself in each on any given day.  At times, I offer hope, encouragement and companionship to those who are struggling.  At others, I'm presumptuous, hypocritical, timid, and not particularly helpful in encouraging my fellow-travelers to persist and press on in the right direction.  As the years go by, my hope is to become a better travel companion.

My time in Nashville was a sweet reminder that we're not left alone on this unpredictable journey of life.  Those I met did not have names like Evangelist, Faithful, or Goodwill, yet they gave me great gifts of encouragement, community, and hope.  Here are few glimpses of our encounters along the road:

~ Pete Peterson - Affirmed that just as God created in His own image, we create from our own personal stories.  Although flawed, we are born to create.  That which we create has dignity, and reflects the hope and the truth of the gospel.

~ Jonathan Rogers - Encouraged us to spend time considering our story... those moments, years, and decades in life that make up our personal history.  Within each of our lives can be found the story of redemption.  Not just in the few dramatic, life-altering scenes, yet more often in the details of the mundane.  Pay attention.  Take note.  

~ Ben Shive - Challenged us to look for stories of redemption in unlikely places.  Although that may not have been his end-goal, it was certainly a by-product of his recounting the life and works of Brian Wilson.  Who "woulda thunk"  that his music is complex and innovative, or that redemption can be seen in the story of his life.  Not in a renewal of Wilson's strength and vigor, but in the kindness of those surrounding him when he finally reached the end of his proverbial rope.  Listening to the Beach Boys will never be the same.  And hopefully, neither will listening to the stories of folks whose paths intersect with mine.  I want to listen without presumption, but with anticipation and curiosity.

~ Russ Ramsey and Justin Gerard - Illuminated the connection between the art of the masters and the Master himself.  By becoming apprentices of the great artists - studying their lives, technique, style and artwork, we can gain glimpses of the Kingdom from a new and fresh vantage point.  Gerard, who is an amazing artist and illustrator, conveyed, "I can't write like Tolkien, but I can reflect what he's done with my own art."  There's a sermon or two for us all in that statement alone.

~ Sally Lloyd-Jones - Inspired us to believe in the power of language and story, and to fall more deeply in love with The Great Story.  "A story can do much more than teach, it can transform you.  It works secretly," she shared.  Trust the story to do the work.  Don't feel like we we have to push morals.  I'm still mulling over the implications of that one.  With her humble, winsome, and delightfully British accent, Sally treated us to a lovely storybook time which could have rivaled that of the Darling children in Peter Pan.  She then narrated the story of her own life, complete with a few significant plot twists, compliments of the Author.  She inscribed my daughter's Jesus Storybook Bible with the following, "Caroline, This is your story." And it's mine.  And it's yours, too.

~ Andrew Peterson - Reminded us all to Whom we belong.  We are the beloved.  We are made in His image.  And we create as a response.  He also reminded us that we have not been left to journey through life alone.  The weekend served as a living testimony that the Kingdom is not only in the future - we've been given a taste of it here on earth.  In all of creation.  In music, art, literature, laughter, kindness, compassion, and yes, in each other.

As I continue to distill all that I experienced over the weekend in Nashville, perhaps the most lasting impression that will mark my soul was the gathering of 100 relative strangers, who because of the great love for their Father, became family.  We were given a glimpse of what will take place one day, when we are all finally gathered together "from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages"...

A voice cried out: "These pilgrims now are come from the City of Destruction for the love they bear to the King of this place."  So the Gates of Heaven opened to them, and they entered in.  "And," writes Bunyan in his book, "I was able to look in after them, I saw the streets were paved with gold.  And in them walked - with crowns upon their heads - the company of just men made perfect.  And the Bells of the City rang for joy.  For Christian and his fellow had come to their true home."

Amen.

All pictures and quotations are borrowed from Dangerous Journey:  The Story of Pilgrim's Progress William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company