And...and...and....

I will put My laws into their minds,
And I will write them on their hearts.
And I will be their God,
And they shall be My people.
And they shall not teach everyone his fellow citizen,
And everyone his brother, saying, "Know the Lord,"
For all will know Me,
From the least to the greatest of them.
For I will be merciful to their iniquities,
And I will remember their sins no more.
~~ Hebrews 8:10b-12 ~~


I'm sure there's an official term for it, the repetitive "and" device, but I don't know what that official term is. As far as literary devices go, it's one of my favorites. I love the sense of build, of heightening emotion. I love how it moves you, spiraling and avalanching towards a climactic finish. In the above words from Hebrews, I love the way it resonates with the unshakable promises of God.

The passage came to mind tonight as I read yet another story about how tax dollars may soon be used to finance the killing of unwanted children. I have been wondering about how tax revenues have been put to use over the ages, doubting that the Christians in the Roman Empire (or in most modern-day countries in the world, for that matter) approved of how "their tax dollars" were distributed. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see the government out of charity and healthcare and see private citizens neighboring up and opening their wallets to their churches and their acquaintances and to all those in need to the point that organizations have to ask people to stop bringing money.

What I'd love to see more is that level of neighboring up even under a government that is bound to continue raising taxes due to an ever-increasing, ever-more-bi-partisan poor sense of fiscal responsibility in general. To see a call for more federal funding of abortions disappear because the desire to obtain them disappears; to see orphanages and other childcare institutions shut down because people have opened their homes; to see mothers and fathers of children they can't handle cared for and mentored; to see God's people shining as stars out of a darkness that cannot overpower them.

And we have His laws in our hearts,
And He is ours,
And we are His,
And He has been merciful,
And He remembers our sins no more,
And nothing can separate us from His love,
And no trials or earthly treasures can endure eternally,
And no person is too far gone for His healing touch.

Campaign all you want, politicians. Rail all you want, demagogues. Tax us and fine us and even imprison us, if you want. The position of King of the Universe has been filled since before the beginning of time and will be filled beyond its end.

And there is nothing, nothing, nothing impossible with God.

Early New Year Reflections

I know, I know. It isn't even Christmas. But as I worked my last day until January (the day after an auditor told me I should get a raise, the audit went so well...we actually have "good audit" in writing from them), I found myself reflecting on how much has happened over the past year.

A year ago, I had already mostly worked my way out of a job. I was going into the office and searching for things to keep myself busy, waiting to be laid off because obviously there wasn't enough for me to do anymore. Friday I had the first calm day I had in ages, and I worked an 11-hour day this week that was followed by a day when I arrived at about 6:15 (less than 12 hours after I'd left work). And you know what? It's so much better than not having enough to do.

Right now I have the best job I've ever had, and it came after I gave up. After I'd asked God to give me an attitude of service, a love of serving Him that surpassed any drudgery of the task. After I'd found myself in the middle of an interview that was going nowhere and so I just slipped into behaving naturally. After all of this, the people from the "going nowhere" interview hired me for a job that uses my skills at an organization that works to make a difference in the lives of troubled kids. It's been quite a ride.

There were five months of unemployment between those extremes in the middle of the year, months of uncertainty and of relaxation at the same time. Months in which I spent lots of time visiting with my parents (including a trip to Flagstaff), and lots of time with my friends who stayed home during the day. The latter was time that became increasingly precious retroactively, when on my first day back at work I learned that some dear friends would be moving to Missouri.

It's been a year of relational change. Aside from having friends move, I've grown lots closer to my sister-in-law; I've had a friend stop talking to me; I've reconnected with a friend from the past; I've formed maternal-sort-bonding attachments with a new set of first graders and with a teenage boy who says "Hi" every time he sees me since the day he carried a box into my office for me.

For the past few years I've found myself asking God to hone me in particular ways. Somehow this year became dedicated to increasing vulnerability, a time to stop hiding and let God be the one to protect me. And as this has happened I've realized that it is less painful to hurt while trusting God than to hurt while relying heavily on yourself. It is less painful to admit to missing people and leaving that out there even if the sentiment goes unreturned than it is to pretend you don't care at all and letting that pent-up emotion build to volcanic levels. It is freeing and calming to be honest with yourself about what you want and don't want. (Funny thing about telling the truth, to myself and others...it doesn't make me angry.)

It is marvelous to rest in the knowledge that God is shaping you more and more into the person He wants you to be, to be comfortable in your own skin because you know He is at work in all of you.

I feel stronger than I ever did with my guard up. I am quicker to give people another chance. I believe that His ways are right no matter what happens, and that not even the slightest twinge of discomfort is wasted. "Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own."--Philippians 3:12

I look forward to seeing what is coming next year.

Perspective on an Audit

This week Thursday is the first audit I'll be part of at the school where I work. Two people from the local district office will be coming to make sure our records are in order. I've been sort of panicking about this off and on since September.

The worst part is not knowing what to expect. The rule book is labyrinthine and can be changed at the whim of any given district auditor. The school situation has changed since last year, so the rules that applied to the women who went through it then may not exactly apply in the same way to me.

Towards the end of his first epistle, the apostle John makes the startling and confusing declaration that God's commandments are not burdensome. I've often wondered how you could say that commands like "love your enemy" aren't burdensome, and it hasn't seemed like enough of an answer to say that it's because Jesus frees us and the Holy Spirit equips us to live in accordance with the will of God. (Though those are certainly amazingly large parts of the answer.)

This week, thinking about the audit, thinking about the rules that keep changing and the subjectivity of the auditor, it hit me that for an unchanging being to lay out commands in writing, with no secrets or loopholes, is a tremendous act of love. God is never going to change the rules. God is never going to show up cranky to work. God is constant, and it is His constancy that makes Him so knowable.

And then today in Sunday School we did a review of the book of Genesis. This morning we pointed out that Genesis isn't a collection of unconnected stories any more than the Bible is a collection of unconnected books. "The Bible is a lot of books, but it's also one book," as one of the girls succinctly put it.

God's promise threads all the way through Scripture. The best part? The book has been finished, but the story isn't over. God's promise threads through countless characters who have come before us and will reach to countless characters after us as our threads overlap and dance and become something increasingly beautiful in a world where the devil's sharpest swords cannot sever these threads that tie us to the Christ who came and is coming.

When we read of epic quests or fairy tales, there are things we know. We know that the evil emperor has to die, that his followers will be scattered. We know the prince will always come for his bride-to-be, that there will be rejoicing and celebration when it happens. We know because they are shadows of the larger tale, whose author has given us the biggest, most magnificent, most welcome spoilers ever.

And in this larger-than-you-and-me story, an audit is coming this Thursday to a small school in Grand Rapids.

It is well with my soul.

When I am afraid,

I will put my trust in You.

In God, whose word I praise,

In God I have put my trust;

I shall not be afraid

What can mere man do to me?

~~ Psalm 56:3-4

Walls

Last night I went to a presentation on a friend's recent trip to Berlin. He and his wife had lived there for over a year while he was stationed in Germany, and he returned as part of an almost-all-expense-paid trip honoring the U.S. servicemen whose presence helped to protect West Berlin from being overrun by the Communists on the other side of the Wall that divided the city in half.

The fall of the Berlin Wall is probably my earliest memory as far as global news is concerned. I remember hearing about people who had tried to come over the Wall from East Berlin and had been killed for their troubles. I had believed, with what I've sometimes seen as a 10-year-old's naivete but now recognize as the general shortsightedness of humanity, that the horrible fact of the wall was inevitable, almost eternal. The evil that had been would always be, or else might become worse. And then suddenly one day it was gone. (The long-boiling things always seem so sudden, so remarkable, when they happen.)

What strikes me after last night's presentation is the same thought that haunted me after seeing The Pianist, a film featuring a man who was forced into the Warsaw Ghetto, an area of the city bricked off from the rest that could be entered or exited under only strict military supervision.

People on the other side of those walls watched them go up. Watched as strands of barbed wire tore their city in half and as that barbed wire was replaced by concrete barriers. Watched as a whole group of people were bricked away. Walked by those walls every day, walls behind which their former neighbors were sealed.

People being shut off from the free world watched, too. Watched by the hundreds of thousands, by the millions. In The Pianist, a Jew waiting to board a German train muses, far too late, over the number of Jews in Poland and the question of why they couldn't fight.

It's chilling. And I wonder what people will say about us, fifty or sixty years from now. I wonder if there are any walls going up, right before our eyes, while we keep to ourselves and mind our own business and maybe toss up a few prayers and stay comfortable and safe.

Dear God, keep us awake and unafraid.