Skimming from the Top

Tonight I went to my church congregational meeting. (It was a bit boring in places, but it was never uncomfortably tense. This was an answer to prayer, so praise God for that!)

As each person signed in, he or she received a dollar bill. Then, about two hours later, an elder speaking for the Building Oversight Team stood up and asked us to show off the dollars.

"Now say 'Mine!'" he said. "Say it like a two-year-old!"

A chorus of "Mines" came obediently back at him, and then he asked for the dollars to be passed up to the front. Amidst some good-natured muttering, they started moving.

And then he told us about a remarkable opportunity.

My church has voted to break ground on a building in April of this year. For the past 10 years or so, we've been meeting in an elementary school. Well, we've outgrown it. Navigating the halls in winter is not pleasant, to pick out a point that is mostly comfort-related. We also look forward to having a building of our own to grow our ministry opportunities. What new Bible studies will take place there? What services can we provide for members of the community in which we have been placed?

When we approved the motion to break ground this year, it was with the knowledge that at the time of the vote we didn't have enough money to build the building we had in the plans. Unless more money came in, we would have to put a few stages of the building on hold.

And now, the U.S. government is quite possibly going to vote for an extra $600 in tax returns for every person who pays income tax.

And maybe even $300 extra per child.

My church has a LOT of children.

This measure seems made for us, the elder pointed out, and the numbers went up on the screen: If everybody in my church donates this extra portion of their tax return, money that wasn't even a glimmer in their eyes a few weeks ago, then we could add $200,000 to the building fund.

Wow! Exciting stuff! I hope everybody does this.

But it got me thinking....

Wasn't the rich man who Jesus saw putting so much into the treasury donating the ancient Israel equivalent of an unexpected tax break?

I didn't join in the chorus of "Mine's" in the gym tonight, because when I was sitting there with that dollar I knew it wasn't mine, and that I was probably going to be called to give it back at any second. So why claim what clearly wasn't mine?

I want that attitude to grow in my life. Because in the ultimate sense, it's not my money. It's not my stuff. It's not my time. It's not even my life. My life is in Christ, and I want that to be increasingly obvious.

I don't want to just give him the extra bits that I won't miss.

Today's Surprising Thought

This morning I logged into my Facebook account and saw that one of the new Super Poke options is "Boycott Valentine's Day with." (For those who don't know what "Super Poke" is, just imagine sending a note to your friend saying you are doing that selected action with them. But online, not for real.)

My first thought was, "I could boycott Valentine's Day with [insert name here]." My second thought was, "But why? That seems kind of bitter, and it's not like I'm dreading Valentine's Day this year."

This was the surprising thought of the day, as usually I am bitterly dreading Valentine's Day for a variety of reasons. As I thought more about it, I realized:

1) I'm too old to waste any more time being bitter on purpose. I have enough bitterness that I'm afraid to dig out without making special efforts at new or accentuated bitterness.

2) I have a lot of people in my life who are getting married this year, or exploring new relationships, or even just celebrating yet another year as a spouse. But I am not crying my eyes out over it and wondering what is wrong with me and where have all the cowboys gone.

3) I kind of like the idea of being "the okay single woman." Maybe my mission is to be single for the rest of my life, partly so that young girls who are wondering why they aren't dating and are either wondering if something is wrong with them or feeling pressure from friends/family/etc. can think, "Well, there was Suzanne. She was a pretty cool single person, and she wasn't completely useless or anything. I will be okay, too." I never had an "okay single woman" in my life. It might have been nice to have.

It's not like I'm hugely fond of Valentine's Day all of a sudden. (Hey. I don't even really like Christmas. Of course I could give you a list of reasons not to celebrate Valentine's Day.) But I'm not dreading it. Which is actually a very significant difference.

Some parts of growing up do make life easier.

How do they do it?

I am home sick today. Not sure what it is, but I had a fever last night and I am just feeling very weak still. As I was thinking last night about how pathetic I was feeling, two subjects of the "how do they do it" question kept coming up.

Moms

Moms take care of their kids even when they, the moms, are feeling awful. This just grows more amazing to me every year. Moms in general grow more amazing every year.

When I was a kid, I never thought much about my mom being a separate entity with a separate life and a separate set of needs and wants. She was just always there, ready and willing to do anything for me. There weren't a lot of times when I said, "Hey, Mom...how can I help you out today?" Especially not when I was sick...but then, most times I do think my mom would rather have gotten juice for me than have me get up and get it myself. Because on top of her already outstanding Empathy Powers, she has amazing Mom Powers. Just having her around to be concerned made me feel better. And it still does...I call her even more when I'm sick than I usually do. It reminds me that I'm sick, but I'm loved. And if I'm loved, I can get through it.


Meghan

As I was shivering and aching on my couch last night, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be an 11-year-old in a hospital bed, having a severe reaction to chemotherapy meds.

And I could not imagine it. But that's what was going on with Meghan as I had my fever. In a way (and maybe this sounds weird), I've sort of dedicated this illness to Meghan. By which I mean that every time I start feeling sorry for myself, I remember her. I pray for her, and I pray that in my little lightweight illness I will be able to look to God in the same way she has been under a much greater trial.

I wish me being sick could take some pain away from her.


So, yeah. Moms and Meghan amaze me. I want to be as selfless and courageous as they are at their best. I'm glad the God who gives them grace for their needs is working in me, too...and providing me the grace I need in my own meager trials.

If I die before I wake....

In a recent discussion with a friend, we were talking about who would tell people if we died. Morbid? Not necessarily. You can think about such things without dwelling on them in an unhealthy way.

As I've thought about who would know first if I had died, and how the details afterwards would proceed, one thing keeps nagging at me: I need a will. Or maybe a living trust. Just a trust?

First of all, I need a basic understanding of post-death legal documents. And then I need one of those documents.

My step-aunt Susan died at about the age of 40. My cousin Bridgette died at about half that age. I'm not guaranteed tomorrow. Isn't it selfish, then, for me to live as though death won't happen eventually?

Someday, anywhere from tonight to decades from now, I will die. Then what? Who notifies people? Who gets my DVDs, which may by then be hopelessly out of date? Who gets to sort through all my old college paperwork and decide what to sell on EBay to my legions of adoring fans?

Hence the need for the legal document. Save whoever is left from probate.

I know somebody who has a CD made up that he wants played at his funeral. It contains songs directing focus to God, songs that strongly hint that physical death is only another stage and that what really matters is what comes afterwards.

This part makes me more nervous. Lately, when I've been casually thinking about my eventual death, I've been imagining something like this....

Upon arriving in heaven, Suzanne is shown a long line of people.

"Who are these?" Suzanne asks.

Her guide says, "These are people who never heard the Gospel."

"I couldn't speak to everyone," Suzanne says. "That would have been impossible."

"Look closer."

She looks closer and is horrified to see how many faces she recognizes.

"These aren't the people of Pakistan or Ecuador or Greece," her guide says. "They aren't the people you sent money to help. They are the people who sat next to you at work. They are the people you chatted with in long lines. They are the friends who stopped coming to church."

"But," Suzanne protests, "I've prayed that God would send strong Christians into their lives."

The guide looks at her. "Why did you think you were there?"

I know God is gracious and merciful. I know He won't hold my failures to speak against me. But I want Him to see less of them every year.

So this year, I want to get one of those legal documents.

And I want to start taking better care of my greater inheritance, too. Please pray that this may be the case. I'm so afraid to speak, but I'm growing more afraid not to speak. Pray that keeps up, and that God's words flow through me.

Because I want to wake before I die.

Yesterday

The title of this post isn't a reference to the much-loved Beatles song, but rather to the literal yesterday, January 11.

What excitement there was, folks! In my little office of five people, my boss was out of town on business; then one co-worker called in sick; then another co-worker coughed for about the 50 billionth time in the past two weeks and ended up hurting a rib so bad she was afraid she broke it, so she left, too.

Only two of us in my office all day yesterday. It was crazy busy sometimes, but all the customers who called in were nice and nobody was getting angry at us. We didn't get many sample requests, so I was free to sit and answer phones for most of the day. There were a few times I almost said "Look how awesome we are!" but then every time I remembered that bit in Acts 12 about Herod..."And immediately an angel of the Lord struck him because he did not give God the glory, and he was eaten by worms and died."

Because, really, God gave us a great day yesterday. And I had tons to do, and a lot of variety, and there is a large part of me that wishes more of my days could be like that (but without the part where co-workers are feeling miserable, because I don't wish that on them).

Usually if there is something going on socially on a Friday evening, I hear about it before I start my drive home. Last night, nothing was happening. (A quick look at Lisa's blog this morning revealed that this was because last night she and I were of the same mind as to socializing.)

I love my friends, but I have also re-discovered that I love to spend time alone. Not the time sitting in front of the TV or surfing aimlessly on the internet so much as time spent reading, or organizing, or something else that requires a bit more effort. When my apartment chores are done, I feel better about the world. And if the faithful completion of such tasks puts my attitude in the proper place outside these walls, it is worth it to set aside a night or two each week for them.

Last night I cooked. I actually cooked. I steamed some vegetables and heated up some pasta and made pesto to go with the pasta and sliced open chicken breasts and put sour cream in them, with garlic in one and onion in the other. But I remembered why I don't cook much, and especially during the week, because this project took about an hour and a half (or two hours?) and the meat ended up looking a little raw because I don't really cook chicken enough to know what it is supposed to look like when it is safe to eat. Still, it felt more like time well spent than sitting down to watch "just one episode" of some TV show on DVD that turns into me watching the whole disc.

Today I will continue my trend from last night by organizing my VHS collection (yes, I still have one) and going to the gym and running various errands. And maybe I'll even see about social events tonight.

Because I feel good about things here.

Meghan Haan

This is Meghan Haan, an 11-year-old girl who goes to my church. Many of you know her already, and so little of what I'm about to say will be new for you.

I had the privilege of having Meghan in my class for a few years when I taught the 3rd-4th grade group during our Wednesday night Bible study. She impressed me with her interest in and engagement with the material. She asked good questions and provided thoughtful answers to questions I asked. I gave thanks to God for her and for granting the prayers of believing parents seeking to raise their children to be strong in the Lord.

Just now, everyone in the Haan family has special need of the strength only the Holy Spirit can give. Meghan was recently diagnosed with osteosarcoma (bone cancer). It has been literally awe-inspiring to see God work in this family. In the midst of a dark and frightening time, they are looking to him as their only possible source of light.

I have been encouraged by this family in the past--especially by Meghan and her big sister Lauren--and they continue as a source of encouragement. Please pray for drastic healing for Meghan and torrents of peace, comfort, and strength for her, her family, and all those affected by this. Please pray that lives may be changed for the better as they hear this beautiful young girl sing praise to God in a cancer ward. And please pray that those of us who aren't family may know how best to encourage the Haans.

If you would like to stay updated on Meghan, you can visit the website her mother set up: http://greenchairstudio.typepad.com/vibrantlife.

God hears the prayers of his people. Let's take advantage of it!

A Promise

I've been reading through Isaiah, and this morning I came across this passage:

"In that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and Assyria will come into Egypt, and Egypt into Assyria, and the Egyptians will worship with the Assyrians. In that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the LORD of hosts has blessed, saying, 'Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance.'"
~~ Isaiah 19:23-25

It sent shivers down my spine and I laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to hear that prophecy in the time it was given. Assyria had been invading and oppressing Israel for years and years. Egypt kept them as slaves for centuries and Israel remembered it like it was yesterday. So I'd imagine some people would have gotten pretty angry when they heard this. Egypt and Assyria worshiping together, maybe. But both of those nations together with Israel?

Then I tried to imagine some countries and groups that might stand in for Egypt and Assyria today in modern minds. Maybe Iraq, or North Korea, or China, or even France. Maybe Democrats or Republicans, Presbyterians or Catholics...let's face it, we don't need people to enslave us or torment us before we decide to cut them out of the reach of God's grace. If we were in charge of who got into heaven, there would be a lot more empty rooms in the Father's house.

But most of us are Egypt, about as far as it gets from the originally chosen people.

We are Assyria, taking whatever we can get and depending thoroughly on our own power.

And we are Israel, possessing great gifts upon which we routinely turn our backs.

"Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance."

God's worst enemies will become your brothers and sisters in Christ. It's a promise so sure it may as well have already happened, and in fact it has...I was once one of those very enemies.

Anybody can befriend someone who is just like them (Luke 6:32-34). But when antagonists turn allies, that's a matter for laughter in the Isaac sense: the "impossible" promise made true, and to God alone the glory.

May God's highway connect ever more and more of His people. Especially the ones we can't stand just now.

Beatles Wisdom

I heard "I'm Looking Through You" on the radio this morning, and the thought came to me that this is the hardest kind of relational divide to deal with...or it is for me, anyway. I'll let the Fab Four explain it with the two verses that struck me most:

I'm looking through you, where did you go

I thought I knew you, what did I know

You don't look different, but you have changed

I'm looking through you, you're not the same

You're thinking of me, the same old way

You were above me, but not today

The only difference is you're down there

I'm looking through you, and you're nowhere

Words in—or outside of—a vacuum

Tonight I had a conversation with a few friends about blogs, and I realized again something that I already knew: I would write even if nobody ever read what I wrote.

True, since last January I have written approximately two poems.

True, I have gone for longer stretches than usual this year without posting on the blog.

True, I have not even posted a new fanfiction story in a while.

True, my original ideas often simmer so long on the back burner that the bottom of the pot is almost burnt out.

But when I don't write for a while, I feel it. Or the lack of it. And then I know that writing something—anything—will lift my spirits.

I've written myself further into corners at times. I've written my share of Mary Sues, stories starring a type of myself in which the character standing in for me gets everything I want. I've written more than a few things that should never have seen the light of day (let alone been seen by a fellow human being). I've written out of anger and self-pity. I've written words that were intended to hurt, intended to sever relationships.

But I've also written comfort and truth. I've written clever phrases and dead-on character voices. I've written whimsical stories for children and I've written thoughtful poems about the world as I see it. I've spent a pain-stakingly long amount of time on writing communications in which I try my hardest to temper the truth with love and respect.

My words—on paper or online—are an integral part of who I am. I love writing, and I have learned so much in the process of it. Thank God that He shares creativity with us!

And I do think that creativity is usually best when it is shared. It provides more enjoyment to both parties that way, as well as more growth. Feedback challenges a writer to think about her audience, to realize that she is not writing in a vacuum. It pulls her out of herself and leads her into service of the work.

But if I were writing in a vacuum, I would still do it.

Home from the Holidays

I am sitting at home (where I live) after being home (with my parents and often my brother) for the holidays, with a whole year stretching out before me. Here are some of my thoughts tonight.

• My computer is mind-numbingly slow. I have probably loaded way too many songs and way too many pictures onto a hard drive unequipped to handle the pressure. Perhaps I should invest in a portable hard drive just so I could keep the pictures accessible, but not have them cluttering up my working hard drive.

• I’ve graduated from college, supported myself for 6 years, and now, as I enter the last full year of my twenties (I’ll be 30 on June 2009, God willing—plan your parties now!), I still don’t like the thought of “growing up.” (Anybody who thinks I am in any way too serious or too regimented to be considered anything but thoroughly grown up already did not know me when I was a child. I have always been like that.) I don’t like how you get older and things change, and people change, and how you can’t ever really go back. I appreciate growth. Within reason. But there is definitely a part of me that always wants to be a little girl and have fun. I guess I can look around at family members like my parents and realize that these are not mutually incompatible goals....

• I have way more stuff than I need. I like most of it, but sometimes I fantasize about burglars or tornadoes or fires, and about “starting over” and not accumulating so much. I would miss some things, but if I can lose two grandfathers and a cousin to death, and if I can lose friends and family to distance and time, I can lose (for instance) my notes from my college Playwriting class. (Downside of any of the above scenarios, of course: I do not want to lose my bird. He is a living creature who loves me and for whom I am responsible.)

• As I was thinking earlier about how the idea of a fire cleaning out my garbage is appealing, an association sprang to mind: the Holy Spirit is called a fire. I have a lot of spiritual and emotional garbage that I would miss a lot less than those Playwriting notes. I'm sure I would miss a fair amount of it, but I am willing to try it. Terrified, but willing. Bring on the holy fire, Lord.

• I have a lot of baggage around here (physically) that I could take care of in about half an hour if I would just get off the computer and focus on unpacking....

There's a lot more rattling around up there, but I need blog fodder for later, right? Right.

Happy New Year, everyone. May you not make hasty resolutions today or any other day this year, and may God grant you the power to follow through on every promise to make to yourself and to others.

From darkness to light

The people who walk in darkness
Will see a great light;
Those who live in a dark land,
The light will shine on them.
~~ Isaiah 9:2


The night before the birth that changed the world, there was no hum of anticipation. The people whose families hailed from Bethlehem were gathering there again in droves, no doubt grumbling over Roman tax laws and the difficulty of finding rooms. The shepherds were spending another dirty, smelly night with the sheep, those stupidest of animals. Astronomers from miles and miles away were watching the skies, as usual. Pharisees and other religious leaders were offering up prayers for a Messiah of their own imagining, someone to kill the Roman invaders and restore Israel to all its Davidic glory. Perhaps a man named Simeon--closing his eyes after another long day, feeling his age--would have felt one day closer to the consolation he'd been yearning for, but perhaps he was one of few.

When Matthew references the prophet Isaiah, he does it like this:

"The people who were sitting in darkness saw a great light,
And to those who were sitting in the land and shadow of death,
Upon them a light dawned."
~~ Matthew 4:16

Not physical darkness, but the darkness of a land ruled by death. Not just walking, but sitting. Waiting for the inevitability of the shadow.

And then one new baby cries.

Elsewhere, in the fields with the watching shepherds, the night explodes in light and in song--the first sign that the child who has left glory pulls glory in after him. But most of Israel is sleeping. Nobody told them that everything would change that night.

Long ago, when the church scheduled a commemoration of this unremarkable yet miraculous night, they chose a time of year that coincided with pagan festivals celebrating the winter solstice, the longest night that (finally) gave way to the returning sun. Now, on Christmas, we celebrate the turning from a deeper darkness than the dead of winter, and a light that both preceded and will outlast the sun. Now, every day, in the midst of whatever darkness threatens to overwhelm us, we remember the Incarnation.

Because the glory of God breaks forth when we least expect it.

Deflection

Tonight I had a serious conversation about origins, specifically from the viewpoints of young earth six day and old earth framework. It was the sort of discussion I have experienced all too rarely since graduating from college: voices were raised infrequently and lowered quickly, opinions were stated calmly, and in general the participants seemed more concerned for each other than for the outcome of the discussion.

I am not saying that doctrinal stances are unimportant, or that there aren't times when you need to take a firm stand against a position that is leading somebody into sin, or that the Word can mean two contradictory things at the same time. But as we were talking about Genesis, and then beginning to touch on Revelation, it occurred to me that I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that was nearly this in-depth about how I am living.

Or as I said to my friend on the other side of the coversation, maybe we talk so much about the beginning of things and the end of things so we don't have to talk about things here in the middle.

It's easy for me to list off reasons why I believe that God created the world in six 24 hour days. It's easy for me to argue over end times scenarios. But please don't let's talk about how we're doing here in the present moment, because I so much want and don't want all that to be known.

What do you think of women as elders?

Christmas time is here. Cue Vince Guaraldi.

When I was about seven or eight years old, my parents sat my brother and I down and told us that we would not be celebrating Christmas that year. They were tired of the commercialization, they weren't sure the holiday as celebrated was honoring to God, and so they took a break. I respect them for that.

I missed Christmas. I don't remember missing the presents much. We got presents at birthdays, after all. I did miss the family gatherings. And maybe even more, I missed the time my immediate family used to spend decorating the tree together: my mom and dad getting all of the old ornaments out; my brother and I arguing a bit over who got to put up which ornament; my dad picking us kids up so we could hang things on higher branches.

I don't know that my parents ever intended to resume celebrating Christmas, but about five years later we did. Sort of. We started exchanging gifts again (I remember my dad taking us to the mall on Christmas Eve to shop for mom). We started going to family functions. I have especially fond memories of the kids' table at the Fleagle gatherings, none of us knowing how few years we'd really have left when we were all really still kids, young and ignorant and invulnerable.

But even as that five year hiatus becomes a smaller and smaller percentage of my life, I still have ambivalent feelings towards the holiday. I would imagine living outside of the country for five years as a child would have a similar effect in certain ways.

I don't feel like I get Christmas. I don't understand it on a procedural level. What if somebody gets you a gift and you don't have a gift for them? What if you get cards from everybody and you never send cards back? In either of these cases, might the people in question simply write you off as a sorry excuse for a friend?

Christmas cards are harder than gifts. I like getting them, especially the newsy cards or the photo cards. The photo cards always go on my fridge, and they make me happy all year. But I don't think I've ever yet sent a Christmas card. Whenever I think of doing it, a voice in the back of my head starts whining about landfills, or about how I haven't had an interesting enough year to write a newsy update, or how I have enough for a newsy update but I've procrastinated too long, or...etc., etc.,etc. Lots of excuses. So to everyone who sends me a card every year and receives nothing in return...thanks, and I don't deserve you.

I haven't decorated a Christmas tree in 20 years. I have ornaments from various friends (somewhere), but no tree. Where would I put one? And would it even be anywhere near as enjoyable of an experience to decorate a tree without my family? My only real "Christmas decorations" (really sort of winter decorations, in that I put them away by spring) are two stuffed bears: one from Grandma Crowe, who gave me a Winnie-the-Pooh in winter garb; one from Grandma Winter, who gave me a bear dressed in green and red, a bear that has been a Winter Christmas decoration for years and years.

Both of these bears make me feel close to family, make me feel loved, and make me feel like a small girl who isn't all that big and grown-up after all.

Tangible love meets a need for something bigger than self....

And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Addendum to my second-to-last post, "You Are Cordially Not Invited...."

This came over through our church email today, and considering my recent post it made me smile.

"CORRECTION FOR 80'S NEW YEAR’S PARTY: The announcement for this party should have read 'teens of the 80's', instead of 'children of the 80's'. Here's some updated information: Attention: TEENAGERS of the 80's & their spouses...."

You know.

Just in case you accidentally thought you could come.

Single Focus

Just what is it that single people can do so uniquely? I hear frequently that single people are better equipped to serve God in unique ways. I rarely hear anybody explain what they mean by this.

Do they mean “single people aren’t as busy, so they can be more active in the church”?

If they think single people are not busy, they are wrong. I may not have any extra people to clean up after, but neither do I have anybody to help me clean up. Or carry groceries. Or make dinner. (As an aside, I have a good number of friends who are awesome at making dinner for me. Which is always much appreciated.)

Do they mean “we have no idea what we are talking about”?

Quite possibly. I know I talk about a lot of things without always knowing what I’m talking about, and there are very few significant differences between me and someone who is married in that regard.

Do they mean “single people are better positioned to keep their focus on God than married people are?”

Because that’s what Paul says. (I Corinthians 7 doesn’t seem to be discussed much in any of the churches I’ve attended.) “But I want you to be free from concern. One who is unmarried is concerned about the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but one who is married is concerned about the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and his interests are divided. The woman who is unmarried, and the virgin, is concerned about the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and spirit; but one who is married is concerned about the things of the world, how she may please her husband.” (I Cor. 7:32-34) I have personally found that male/female relational drama on a far less intense level than marriage can distract me in extremely detrimental ways, and I always come out the worse for looking in the wrong direction.

I hope that when the church talks about the unique placement of single people, what we mean is that single people are uniquely gifted with single focus—they don’t have to please a spouse, so they can concentrate on pleasing God. And if they focus intently on pleasing God and He sends a spouse, then they will have made it a habit to practice serving God first, and their marriage will be stronger and more of a blessing because of it. And if they focus intently on pleasing God and He does not send a spouse, then they will have made it a habit to practice serving God first, and they will be stronger and more of a blessing because of it.

If at any time we see singleness primarily as a bookend to marriage, or if marriage supplants the glory of God as the ultimate goal of life, we have an idolatry problem, and we need to address that. Contrariwise, if at any time we see singleness as freedom to serve ourselves, or marriage as a trap waiting to be sprung, we have an idolatry problem there, too. We can turn to either marriage or singleness as a source of satisfaction or security, but neither will answer—satisfaction and security are found in God alone.

There is nothing wrong with me that marriage—or anything else, no matter how humanly great it is; or my very own self, for that matter—can fix. There is nothing wrong with me that God can't fix. Or even that He won't fix, in time.

Call it His unique specialty.

You Are Cordially Not Invited....

I just received an email notice about three New Year's Eve parties hosted by various members for my church. One is for "children of the 80's," one is for young couples, and one is for Baby Boomers.

You might be able to read between the lines and say that "child of the 80's" means anybody who likes the 80's. But the others seem...segregationist.

I understand that it is good to be able to associate with people in your stage of life. I feel quite encouraged to be with single women of my age group. (I can't think of any at my church beside me, but the principle stays the same, I guess.) I just feel a little twingy when I see notes in the bulletin saying things like, "Hey, all the young couples/old couples/baby boomers/moms/wives/etc./etc. are getting together for awesome fun!"

Maybe it's because I don't feel like I have a niche (although I do). Maybe it's because I feel like nobody in these groups would want to talk to anybody who wasn't in the group (although I'm sure they would).

There is some part of me underneath all the feeling sorry for myself that knows we can all learn from each other, no matter our age or where we are in life, and that remembers feeling strangely cut off when I went to college and spent most of four years in groups of fellow students who were roughly my age.

But sometimes it's buried deeper underneath than I'd like.

My social schedule isn't affected by any of these parties this year, anyway. I'm pretty sure all Harvest single women between 25 and 30 are going to be spending the holiday week with my family.

On Anonymity in Comments

I was just reading a friend's blog, in which she was ruminating over a problem she had been having with an anonymous commenter. It got me thinking about the purpose of leaving comments at all.

Personally, I only invest time in blogs of those I consider friends. Some are more internet friends than others, but I still feel we have something in common, if only a mutual appreciation for similar things. If I'm investing time in a friend, I can surely invest a bit of extra time by leaving a comment now and then. And I know how much it encourages me when I receive comments, and why wouldn't I want to pass that on?

I think what bothers me about anonymous comments, aside from (perhaps alongside of?) the "stalker" aspect, is that to me the purpose of commenting is an entering into someone else's life. It says "I like your writing," or "I take you seriously," or "thanks for the challenging viewpoint," or "I appreciate you," or some combination of those things. If you comment anonymously, you disallow what tenuous sort of community the internet provides. It's cheap and it's cowardly--the opposite of friendly.

(I know that Brittany can ferret out all her anonymous commenters, so I know some people leave comments on her blog that are only "anonymous" to the other readers. But most of us don't have any idea how she works that magic.)

Anyway, it's one thing to leave a comment on a stranger's blog, but it's another thing not to leave any sort of name with it. It's kind of like honking at a woman who's out walking. And you know how I feel about that.

Another reason why I like birds more than I like dogs

When it gets dark, Apollo turns off. He doesn't scream repeatedly in the middle of the night for no discernible reason. He doesn't wake the neighbors so that people are yelling "SHUT UP!" at 4:00 in the morning.

He isn't that annoying yippy dog who lives in my building somewhere.

Apollo does sometimes make strange squeaky noises in the night, almost as though he hurt himself. Sometimes I hear flapping and/or falling. When I go to check on him (which I always do, because what if he really did hurt himself?), he is always cuddled under his sleepy toy, as if nothing happened. This is why I believe that Apollo has nightmares sometimes. And also that he either A) doesn't remember them for long or B) is too embarrassed to let on that he had a nightmare.

But mostly, the dark is for sleeping.

And never for waking up half the building.

I appreciate that a lot.

"The woman you gave me, she...."

I just finished updating my reading journal, and I thought I'd cross over and expand on part of one of those posts. So here we go.

I recently read a book called Infidel, by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. One of the most fascinating aspects of this book to me was her relation of the way women were often treated in the societies in which she grew.

One part of this broader issue was the issue of coverings for women. In Ali’s experience with Muslim writers, every lustful thought a man had was provoked by a woman, and was thus her sin, not his. Ali once asked why men don’t need to cover up, why it hadn’t been considered that a woman would likewise be driven to lustful thoughts at the sight of a man, and her listeners merely laughed at her.

I found this distressingly similar to the sort of talk I have heard in Christian circles. In one youth group I know of, there was an evening in which the group divided into girls and boys—the girls to talk about modesty and not provoking men, the boys to talk about pornography and not being provoked by women.

Granted, these are both subjects worth discussing. But they are by no means entirely gender-specific, and we do everyone a disservice by acting as though they are.

I have never, to my recollection, heard anyone say anything about male modesty—“Guys, if you think girls are attracted to your bare chests, have a little respect for them and yourselves and keep your shirts on!”—or about how women can be swayed into mental sins by the way men choose to talk about other women—Guy: “So-and-so is so hot"; Girl: "Unlike me/She's not that great/He's a jerk for only focusing on physical appearance/etc., etc., etc." (And men, before you tell me it's ridiculous that women would interpret you that incorrectly, tell me how it's not ridiculous that some men feel unduly enticed by bare shoulders. Isn't all sin inherently illogical, in the ultimate sense?) Likewise, I have never, to my recollection, heard women warned against ogling men, or of objectivizing them in the way they speak.

Are men more prone to lust than women are? Maybe, in general...but then, who decides that? When did lust become a men-only (or at least "men-mostly") sin, anyway?

Are women more prone to taking words out of context? Maybe, but in my experience men are at least as sensitive to how women talk to them as the other way around.

What if we stopped trying to classify sin, and instead shifted our focus to the object of this whole Christian life: Christ first and others second? What if we worked to keep our attitudes perpetually sacrificial towards each other, not because other people “make” us sin but because we desire to make other people strong? What if we focused on removing the log from our own eyes before going to our brothers—and sisters—in humility to address the specks in their eyes? What if we asked for help instead of bursting into self-righteous tantrums? What if we protected each other as fiercely as we protected ourselves?

I don't know about you, but that's the kind of world I want to live in...as well as the kind of world I often despair of. I know we'll never fully attain any of that here. I just want to see more people (myself included) practicing for the day when we will.

Light and Momentary Afflictions

My least favorite bird ownership responsibility is clipping Apollo's nails.

"Nail clipping?" you might be thinking. "Sounds easy enough."

It's hard because he hates it so much, and with good reason. Birds have blood vessels in their nails, and if you clip them properly, they usually bleed. Doesn't sound right, does it? But that's what happens when you clip them to the recommended angle.

Why clip them at all? Well, besides the lacerations on my fingers, sharp pointy nails mean a greater danger that Apollo will get snagged in the carpet, on a blanket, or on any number of snaggable surfaces, and he could hurt himself trying to pull free. Also, when his nails are sharp, he doesn't get to be with me as much...the nails hurt me.

Here's how the clipping procedure happened tonight.

1) I wrap Apollo in a towel, whispering soothingly that it will be okay (he knows what the towel means).

2) I clip the nails, packing a powder called Quick-Stop into his nails to stop the bleeding...quickly. I usually only get a few nails at a time before having to change my grip, as he struggles throughout most of this process.

3) I check to be sure the bleeding has stopped and then let him back into the safety of his cage, where he rushes to his cuddly rope toy for solace.

4) He shuns me, keeping his rope between us.

5) Within a few minutes, he begins peeking around the rope to see if I recognize the enormity of my deeds (or maybe if I just miss him).

6) I sneeze, and he is on the other side of the rope, one foot on the cage bars, looking at me. "Are you okay?" he seems to be saying. "I could use a little company, myself."

7) He sits on my finger, switching from one foot to another because they are still sore. At first his back is to me, but not for long. After all, I'm all he has.

And because nothing is thoroughly straightforward and linear to me, every time I trim Apollo's nails I think how much alike we are. I, too, wrestle in the grasp of Someone who owns me, and who is only causing me pain for our mutual benefit, and to allow me to come closer to Him. I, too, want to run when it gets painful, to turn to some other familiar thing. And I, too, inevitably realize that I want the comfort of God's presence even when I'm still hurting.

Who else do I have? (Ps. 73:25)