Bordering Fuchsia

After I finished my preliminary exams, my boyfriend sent me purple flowers. It was one of the most loving gestures he could have done, not because I'm a flower fanatic or a die hard romantic, but mostly because he recognized and agreed with the enormity of the occasion, from my point of view. It marked a significant point of triumph, relief, accomplishment, and even giddiness -- that I had learned all this new material that is so darn interesting to me, and written gobs about it in a short period of time. The feeling of productivity was enough for a high.

But then, this delivery (which came mid-nap) ushered in a new kind of celebration: the realization that I'd reached that magical hour in which I had permission, at long last, to finally finally REST, and sense enough to take full advantage of it. (In the note accompanying the flowers, he actually did spell out instructions to go sleep.) I could (and did) sleep with no regard to time; do leisurely activities, watch TV, read non-sociological material. This past week I've found myself prioritizing time with girlfriends, packing in three-a-days thrice. I've started hacking away at to-dos long overdue. I've started, in other words, caring for the upkeep of my own life, beyond my career path.

And that time has flown. A week has already passed since the end of the exam.

This past week I've also found myself reveling time and again in those flowers. They are a profound marker for me: they are a symbol of one's love for me, in spite of my pretest self absorption, and posttest -- ok, self absorption. I really am a time manager (I'm fondly reminded of --- in the WB show "Felicity," who's always drilling herself on organic chemistry compounds with flashcards in one hand, and a stopwatch in the other...here's hoping I can be her!), sometimes to a fault. I've not always done a great job showing my love for family and dear friends when studying hangs in the balance. I love to give my time to reading, studying, writing, researching, as if that were my lover. Maybe because I am comfortable there. And feel competent there. And darn it, I just enjoy it and the process and the product it brings. BUT, when placed above people-- that's disorder. Not to mention painful.

But I digress. The flowers: they are really beautiful to me. The main color in the bouquet is an unusual delight: a luminescent purple, bordering fuchsia. I usually never have flowers to brighten my apartment. So they represent not only a symbol and reminder of someone's love, but they also bring beauty where only functionality reigned supreme before (that is, the dining room table).

I also love them because they make me think. Yesterday, day 6, I noticed something peculiar with the flowers as I stared them down whilst writing in my journal. Some miniature tulips nestled in the middle were beginning to droop down. Not dead yet, they were getting there. Rising above the bouquet, some yet-to-be buds were almost bursting. These were not yet in their adult glory. And other flowers were presently in their prime: glowing, healthy, their petals stretched like a young yoga instructor's arms and back, reaching for some great height.

Isn't life like that too? Aren't we always watching some things pass away, some things almost-bloom, some things shout their present glory? Maybe each flower is a blessing, or maybe they each represent facets of our own personally well-known facts of life. Maybe what's decreasing are my former obsessions, hopes, dreams. Watching them fade is sad. But God, who created these flowers, and me and my whole lifespan and each day in it, won't let the bouquet be only that. No! Look: there are gorgeous things going on right this second, and indeed, they occupy the bulk of this bouquet. I'm alive right now, I'm bearing fruit, and it's even pretty. And, I can only imagine what those buds within them hold. What glory will they bring?

Splintering

I can be deep in one part of me,
and quite shallow in the other.

Bright-minded in one reflection,
Dark in my assessment of another.

Joyful as I recognize new pathways,
Mournful as I remember those grown over.

Giving as I accurately estimate my blessed resources,
Stingey as I allow fears of being cheated to overshadow them.

Free and weightless and prepared to run the race some hours,
Burdened, weighted, and constrained at others.

So today I seek to
plunge deep,
absorb sun,
joyfully walk,
happily give,
energetically run:

Remembering every moment that I am loved,
Despite splinters I get when I run my hand over
The wood of old structures needing repair
Or perhaps my hand needing a new surface.

Equations and a Presentable Home

Most things in life can't be understood in formulaic terms. Except maybe this one thing. I can't help but think that the parallelism in this verse hints at some degree of "this equals that:"

He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases. (Ps 103:3)

The context surrounding this one verse pertains to recognizing the good things God has given to me, and the good thing He is in the process of making my life about. And that uniting theme which He is increasingly making my life be about is the reflection of Him in all my life's circumstances and all my heart's aches and desires-- to make every element of my life cohere into agreement with one central theme, that is, to exhibit His character of goodness, restoration, and redeeming love for me and for all people.

So I think it's a safe inference, based on sentence structure and context, to say that forgiveness is one of those devices by which God gives the good to me. It is a highway by which he extracts the bad I have done before it poisons my identity. But He removes it in such a way that I still remember, still experience a sting from what I've done. That way, I have a new, vital awareness of my own part in and responsibility for harming His creation or tarnishing the state He intended it to be in. So, forgiveness teaches me without jading me, or letting me unjustly off the hook and equally prone to commit the same damaging act again.

Forgiveness -- God's forgiveness extended to us, to be exact -- is a complete, comprehensive thing (note: "all"). God is not a selective Forgiver. He's about restoring the whole house, not just a room. In that way, God's brand of forgiveness is a creative act aimed at refurbishing what was lost and bringing it back to its former condition.

I study God's forgiveness in order to understand His design for how I forgive others for the ways they have damaged, harmed, or tarnished me, as well. It's true that once transgressed against, I am and can no longer be the way I was before. But I am not worse off than I was before I was hurt, and here is why.

God is interested not only in forgiving, but in healing. That is, He cares not only about restoring me to a spiritual state in which He and I can get along, but also in restoring me to a mental-emotional state in which I can function and even blossom and bloom. That is, He doesn't just come over to my house to repair its toilets, clear its defunct drainage, paint its walls, brighten its windows, and spruce up its hallways, so that I don't have to be ashamed of the condition it's in. He also comes to remove the things within it that could make me sick: He cleans its carpets, clears its airducts, and removes its pests. He gets into the seen parts that are making me unhappy, uncomfortable, and downtrodden in spirit, sure enough -- but He also gets into the unseen parts and removes the latent illness that lies there. He cares that much. He gets into my heart and tends to the bitterness rooting and growing there with some very special kind of Round-Up. He sees the pain that is killing some precious hope and faith in His goodness that was once there or was once more intact, and as he administers forgiveness, he is submerging me in a bath of healing. He is removing the stains and dirt, and he is applying balm.

Talk about being able to live again! Friend, come over to my house! I am proud of what He's done in here...

My Bank Account

I remember I used to joke with a friend on every payday, "My bank account is full." He would wonder at the idea of 'full,' pointing out that that may be an impossibility. But by my comment, I was mostly expressing my positive point of view towards my own wage. (I was a schoolteacher, but only 24 years old, so I was easily satisfied. I think I still am--never thought I would say it, but "thanks, Dad, for making me be content with a modest sum of money!")

I discovered yesterday morning that my spiritual bank account is full, also. (I wonder if there's such a thing as a spiritual payday? What a marvelous thought--especially if it's periodic and refilled whenever I get desperately low. But God doesn't operate on such economies. Back to the loose metaphor at hand.) When by best friend, C., and I discussed the Bible story of the miserly servant whose debt was forgiven by his master, but who in turn refused to forgive an underling of a smaller debt, it was as if I'd never heard it before. (I had.) As best friends do, C. made it crystal clear to me in that moment, that I have the ability to forgive anything, anyone, of any debt, because it is small in comparison to the oceanous reservoir of built-up love-investments that God has put in me.

I believe it: my spiritual bank account is full. This fact has caused a paradigm shift in hope, that I am indeed empowered by God to maintain a soft heart in hard times. Thank you, best friend, for repairing my hope in the truth.

"The balm of gratitude"

I stole this phrase from Anne Lamott. I'd like to extrapolate on my gratitude, because I do believe it's a balm beyond comparison. I'm thankful for the way God reveals things to us. As Lamott puts it, "if you are paying attention, plenty is being revealed" (2012:52). And I do believe that; I've seen God reveal the truth to me lately in a way that sets me free, a way that helps me realize that the old wineskin just won't do anymore.

Gratitude is a balm of relief because it takes us to the place of revelation and reframing (Lamott's words, again). It takes us out of our fear of pain and failure and into a place where we feel the delights of sand on our toes, the eyefull of a ocean shore, and the reassuring warmth of the sun on our skin -- again. The Lord seeks to refresh us from our weary states, and to enable us to live fully again, no matter what is needing balm. His balm is all-in-one. I'm so thankful for the resilience I find in Him. I bounce back changed every time, not worse off than before, but understanding a bit more about how He loves me, and experiencing in a new way his balm of comfort, freedom, and power.

Rich Soil is Hard Won

Excerpts from Larry Crabb's book, Inside Out:

"The richest love grows in the soil of an unbearable disappointment with life. When we realize life can't give us what we want, we can better give up our foolish demand that it do so and get on with the noble task of loving as we should. we will no longer need to demand protection from further disappointment. The deepest change will occur in the life of a bold realist who clings to God with a passion only his realistic appraisal of life can generate" (Crabb 2007:235).

"The more directly [one] faces  the pain in [one's] life, the more [one] ache[s], and the more [one] ache[s], the more [one] beg[ins] to see God as [one's] one and only hope" (p. 349).

"The Kids Will Teach You Stuff"

That's what my bosses said as they described how the high school students they work with tell them most of what they know about how to serve them better. Really, says B, it's all about conveying to the children that you care about them. It can be so simple to show care. They do it by putting great summer camp enrichment opportunities on their radar screens, and making these seem manageable to their parents and desirable over a do-nothing vege-out summer. They also show care by providing summer job opportunities to instill in them the necessary familiarity with work and the thrill of a paycheck. Or, care can be as simple as taking them for car rides in their convertible to watch the movie "42" on a Sunday afternoon, when S. held onto her hair when B warned them before starting the ignition, "hold onto any papers or anything because they might blow away." That's actually not the relevant story to illustrate this point, but it's funny, so it's worth recording.

But B, on another occasion, took another student to a church (for an errand or something), and after the student looked closely at photos posted on the walls downstairs, concluded about what type of church it was (i.e., what kind of people go there), and B. realized she was right, and hadn't realized that herself without the student's astute, close, between-the-lines observations. (I can't deny, my little sociologist self smiled at this one: a social observer in our midst!)

B, my other boss, talked about the time when some boys were catching a ride home after school and commented that if only he got rims on his pick-up truck, then all the kids who are attracted to the gang life but actually don't like being caught up in it would turn their glance to a better leader to follow. And B said, at first he thought little of the idea. Then he tried it, and it worked.