Get a Life

Today my brother asked me to do something with him of a leisurely nature. “I don’t know if I can,” was my instant reply. “Why not?” he said. “Because I have a life…” Open mouth, insert foot. What a dumb thing to say.

When did we start to get the idea that being busy meant we “had a life?” When did we start measuring the quality of our life by our productivity or the length of our to-do list? We have become human doings instead of human beings. Does one person have more of a life, more of a reason to exist, because they do more stuff? Does another have less value because they are in a season of rest? Often it’s the very doing of too many things that starts to sap us of our life-energy. In all our doing we lose space to reach out and connect with others. We bow down to the to-do list god and fail to love our brother. Like I said, dumb thing to say.

What is life? Where is it to be found? It’s not measured in productivity or lack of it, not confined to days of busyness or even days of quiet. Jesus said, “Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent” (John 17:3). Life is bound up in knowing God and living alongside of Him. The things we do are not totally insignificant, but they aren’t what “give us a life” or prove that we have one. Jesus’ next statement was, “I have brought you  (God) glory on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do” (John 17:4). God will reveal things to us that He wants us to do. He may write us a divine to-do list of sorts. But it is not so that we will “have a life,” so that we will look good. It’s so that He’ll look good through (or despite?) us. Life is ours apart from anything we do.

Do you have a life? Is it the kind of life that Jesus called life? Or do you make the same mistake of equating busyness with life, and glorifying the things you do instead of glorifying God? Maybe some days we need to set aside the to-do list and let God lead us in the kind of life He wants us to live. Whether we are in a season of stress or a season of recuperation, our source of true life comes from the same place. And our value and purpose is exactly the same. I thought I had these truths nailed, but this morning’s expose’ revealed otherwise. Perhaps as I continue to reflect on these things, they will work their way deeper into my heart. And maybe next time true life will guide what comes out of my mouth.

The Strange Case of the Missing Cord

I haven’t been writing much lately, maybe you’ve noticed. I’ve been stymied, frozen, stuck. And it’s all because of a missing camera cord. Call it the weirdest case of writer’s block ever. I’m calling it a lesson in life.

So here’s the story. I had this awesome photo blog all planned out. I spent a week taking pictures, plotting it, perfecting it. But when the time came to put it all together, I hit a glitch. My camera connecting cord was M.I.A. and my picture blog was doomed to an early and unfortunate death. For some reason I couldn’t move on. Inspiration went out the window. My blog fell flat and I didn’t see the point of writing anymore. “Why did I even start this thing in the first place? What do I have to say that’s worth saying? Maybe I should just hang up the towel and admit defeat.” Oh, I tried. A few failed attempts. Several sessions staring at a blank screen. Nothing. And all because my dear little blog-plan got the shaft.

Funny how a change of plans can mess up your equilibrium. Funny how when things don’t go where you anticipated you can lose your momentum to go anywhere. Funny how when the plan falls flat life can fall flat as well. Have you ever been the victim of a changed plan? Maybe something a little more dramatic than a missing camera cord? I have. And I usually cope about the same. It’s hard work to let go and move on. It’s hard to get your inspiration for living back on line when you’ve had a systems failure. Proverbs says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick” (Proverbs 13:12). Amen and amen.

Is there some secret to putting yourself back together after you fall apart? If there is, I guess I haven’t discovered it yet. It’s off missing with the camera cord. But I figure the first step is facing the facts, feeling the disappointment, acknowledging that the loss is real. In a word, grieving. You write that blog bemoaning the blog-that-will-never-be.  You’re honest with yourself that life disappointed you. And as much as you can, you let it rest in peace.

Proverbs 13:12 says “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Sometimes when our hopes and plans fail, the raw wound uncovers something deeper, the longing that gave rise to the  hope in the first place. My failed blog-plan uncovered nothing less than the longing in my soul to be significant, a longing I wanted to satisfy with my amazing post, but which in reality could never have been satisfied by something so small.

Hopes, longings, inspiration and camera cords. You lose one and discover another. Life is a funny, jumbled up mess sometimes. I guess that’s why some days you lose your camera cord. And I guess that’s also why I keep writing.

“Unless you just want coffee with cream, I can’t help you…”

I was just ringing up a drink in my small Coffee Hut when a sudden stillness surrounded me. The silence was deafening. Background noises which I never pay attention to—the rumbling of the ice maker and hum of the air conditioning unit—were suddenly conspicuously absent. Oh, and did I mention it was dark? Well, you guessed it, my hut was without electricity, and I was suddenly out of work. No espresso machine, no steamed milk, no blender for frappuccinos, milk shakes or smoothies. It only took a few minutes to comprehend the ludicrousness of my situation. I had one freshly brewed pot of coffee, and a whole shop full of dormant ingredients with which I could do nothing. I called my boss, and started cleaning up shop to go home—four hours ahead of schedule. When the power goes out, there’s not much more you can do.

Jesus said, “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). If His Chaco’d feet hit the pavement of our modern day cities, I think He might draw an analogy to electricity instead of talking vines and branches. I’ve never lived through a scenario that illustrated this principle in such vivid color. There I was, sitting in a shop whose whole purpose for existing was to make these specialty beverages, and I couldn’t do anything. Cut off from the power source, my vocation (literally call) became null and void. Utterly impossible to fulfill. Apart from Jesus I can’t do anything. Well, maybe I can sit in a dead shop handing out cups of coffee until my one little pot runs empty, but I can’t fulfill my purpose. Not even close. If Jesus ceases to be my power source, it doesn’t matter how much good stuff I have around me. I might as well pack up and go home.

It’s a funny thing, electricity. It’s so unassuming, unnoticed. We walk through our days totally unaware of how much we depend upon it. Until it’s not there. Perhaps this speaks to that mystery of the hiddenness of God, of the times when He seems to “not be there.” Perhaps the only way some of us will recognize how much we depend on Him for everything is to experience a temporary “power-out,” where it seems to us that we have been disconnected. The silence can be deafening. But it speaks its own message—a message of dependence, of need, of our inability to do anything of value apart from our Source. It’s a message many of us need to hear.

Back to my shop—when the power came back on half an hour after its unexpected disruption, I let out a whoop of thankfulness. (See, I actually like my job). I was back in business, surrounded by stores of good things to hand out to the world—and the power supply to make it possible.

Our Field for the Poor

“‘When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Leave them for the poor and the alien. I am the LORD your God.’” Leviticus 23:22

The combines are out en masse in the fields around my house. Golden browned soybeans, wheat, and corn are being harvested and stored. It’s a time of hard work, but also celebration for God’s provision this year. For the ancient Israelites it meant that and more. For those who loved God it meant a special season for giving to God and providing for the poor.

Looking at Leviticus 23, I am moved by the compassion of God, who was so careful to make special provision for the needy people He knew would make a home in Israel. As an agrarian society, Israel was commanded to not squeeze as much profit as possible from its fields, but rather to leave bits of grain for the poor to find. Interestingly, this command comes in the midst of instructions on all the grain offerings brought to God during this harvest season. The Israelites were to bring the first-fruits of their harvest to the temple and also leave a remnant behind. It is like God is saying, “Oh, by the way, your first-fruits are mine, and so are your “last-fruits;” caring for the poor as I do is part of your worship of me.”

What does it look like in our society to care for the poor? Most of us don’t have fields; those who do generally don’t have needy people asking to come behind the combines and pick up left-overs. But I don’t think that means we should just ignore this passage. While we don’t have fields for the poor, I think this opens up some startling implications for our lives. The first implication is that not only is God concerned about the welfare of the poor, but providing provision for them is even an act of worship. It is loving what He loves, and that pleases Him. The second and possibly more surprising implication I find relates to how we provide provision for the poor: not only by sending a check to charity or volunteering our time, but also by looking for ways to help the poor help themselves. In this passage the Israelites provided left-over grain and the poor provided labor to gather it. God was wise to set up such a system. It has been found on many mission fields that hand-outs to the poor often do more harm than good. If people are simply given things, they tend to take them for granted, abuse the system, and in the end become dependent on continued charity. Making people earn what they get, i.e. paying a small amount, has been shown to heighten appreciation for what is provided. It also gives a sense of honor and personal worth to the person earning what they need. When possible, it is better to empower the poor to make their own way than it is to only give charity.

I have been asking myself what our “fields” are like in this day and age. Where is the left-over or surplus of our labor that can be transformed into provision for the poor? In a society that builds itself on dollars, what choice do we have but to simply write more checks to charity? I would like to propose that our dollar is our field. Not in the sense of giving but in the sense of spending. Let me explain. In our society, most of us buy what we need rather than producing it ourselves, and it is usually the poor both in our own country and around the world who make those things. In too many cases, the poor in this system are made more destitute in order that others (be it consumer, distributor or producer) may reap more profits. How we spend our dollar and the things we buy have a massive impact on the poor. For many years I have operated by the ethic of stretching my dollar as far as I can, shopping wherever I can get things the cheapest. I am getting the gleanings from my own dollar. But lately I have been challenged to leave that gleaning for the poor, to search out places to spend my dollars that allow the poor worker to go home with something to live on. Now when I go into a store, I tell myself, “Someone is paying the price. Better me than them.” It is hard, costly. But living God’s way often is. I want to be like King David, the man after God’s own heart, who came to worship the LORD with these words: “I insist on paying the full price. I will not take for the LORD what is yours, or sacrifice a burnt offering that costs me nothing” (1 Chronicles 21:24).

My current field is fairly small. I don’t have many dollars to spend, and to be honest I haven’t found a lot of places to spend them that leave those gleanings. But at least now I’m looking. I’m not content to only bring my grain into God’s temple; I want to leave part of my grain for the poor. It might not be a lot at first–just a kernel here or there, an occasional choice to buy that dress I need from a socially responsible seller rather than the usual retail store, a decision to get one shirt instead of two so that the worker who makes it will have a decent return for their labor. My field’s gleanings are small, but maybe to that one person it will mean feeding a young family. And to me, it will be a conscious choice to worship God with all that I am, and all that I have. And that’s really worth something.

For further thoughts and resources on this topic, you can follow my new blog at My Justice Journey. I would welcome your ideas and comments.

Unknowingly Snared

“Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming on you…You have hoarded wealth in the last days. Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen…are crying out against you. The cries…have reached the ears of the LORD Almighty. You have lived on the earth in luxury and self-indulgence.” James 5:1-5 (Read passage)

This morning in my quiet time I hit this passage and got hit between the eyes. I don’t remember ever reading it before. I know I have, several times, but I guess I never really saw it. I suppose I didn’t see it because I never connected it to myself. I never considered myself rich. I certainly never saw myself as an oppressor.

I see the world differently now.

I’ve seen the world.

I’ve held small children abandoned with aids.

I’ve met young women selling their bodies to feed their children.

I’ve learned that almost half the world is living at a level of poverty, and that one child dies of related causes every three seconds.

I’ve learned that there are more slaves today than there were in the whole 400 years of the trans-Atlantic slave trade.

I’ve learned that many of those slaves are laboring to produce clothing and other merchandise that I unknowingly buy.

I’ve learned that I am rich, and that I play a part in a widespread slavery system.

And I’ve learned that God cares about that part of my life.

Why have I never seen this passage? Why have I never heard a sermon on it? Why in all our church talks on finances and giving do we live in ignorance of this? I think we fear that the problem’s too big. I think we’re afraid of admitting that we fall short of God’s standard. I think we don’t know what to do. Does God?

“My eyes are ever on the LORD, for only he will release my feet from the snare.” Psalm 25:15

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My Garden

I tend a little garden

That is full of planted dreams

Each one’s a fragile flower

But as yet only a seed

 

I water my small garden

Pull out weeds from the warm earth

I’m watching for the seedlings

Just to see which sprouts up first

 

I do not know which flowers

Will flourish in this soil

Their sunshine is my hope

Their nourishment my toil

 

There’s risk that not a single dream

Will grow beyond the sod

Still in faith I tend my garden

And leave the rest to God

The Spiritual Discipline of . . . Drinking Coffee??

I had a conversation recently about idealism and how I cope with a life not lining up with everything I pictured. It boiled down to two words–recognizing goodness. In the middle of stress, in the midst of disappointments or simply “differences” (ways my life doesn’t look like I imagined it would), the most helpful strategy I have is to dwell on all that is truly good in my life.

Recognizing the good, and being thankful to the One who gave it, is the crux of “true spirituality” according to respected apologist, pastor and author Francis Schaeffer. A posture of thankfulness is the starting place from which our walk with God can deepen and thrive. In a similar vein, well-known theologian and author Dallas Willard speaks of celebration as a spiritual discipline. He writes that in celebration, “we concentrate on our life and world as God’s work and as God’s gift to us.” We recognize the good and respond in thankfulness.

Another writer, Andi Ashworth, reflects on this idea in her book Real Love for For Real Life:

“Celebration, in fact, is a spiritual discipline because it is a means of God’s grace to strengthen and transform us. Celebrations, along with the other spiritual disciplines such as prayer, study, solitude, worship, and confession, put us in the path to receive from our Lord. Joy is cultivated as we turn from our daily struggles to remember and appreciate the good things in our life, which come from the hand of God.”

In my experience, joy is a fruit of the Spirit that takes a beating from prolonged disappointment and discouragement. Recognizing God’s continued goodness is the best way to fight back. So take some time to enjoy your life. Sometimes something as seemingly small and insignificant as a cup of good coffee is a spiritual discipline.

When Waiting is Work

“Be dressed and ready for service and keep your lamps burning, like men waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him.” Luke 12:35-36

I work at a small drive-up coffee shop. It’s often feast or famine—everyone coming at once or no one coming at all. That being the case, daily I have moments to sit, sip chai and contemplate life, just waiting. I’m waiting for someone to come to my window, waiting to spring back into action. At that moment watching and waiting is my work.

Waiting is definitely not doing nothing. You should see me scurry at the first lull in the shop—mopping up spills, cleaning out blenders, refilling syrups, brewing shot after shot for chilled espresso. I need these down-times to get ready to go again. Without them the shop would become a complete disaster and I would run out of supplies. There’s no sitting until I’m set to immediately go again. It’s all part of the job, part of active waiting.

Active waiting is a major theme in the gospels. Jesus told stories of servants awaiting the unknown arrival time of their master, about virgins sitting up with their lamps waiting for the bridegroom to come and start the party, about a widow who persistently cried out to an unjust judge, waiting for him to uphold her case. Waiting is a normal part of reality; even God waits—he waits to deal with the weeds among his crop until the harvest, he delays in his return because he is “patient…not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). Waiting, even waiting on God, is part of daily life. But it’s hard. Waiting is work. And Jesus knew it. His closest disciples failed at the waiting game; they fell asleep when Jesus’ only request was that they watch and pray. Jesus knew waiting could be our downfall, and so he ended one of his waiting parables with this poignant question: “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:8).

Waiting is major work in my life right now. I go through each day figuratively waiting for someone to come to my window. I attempt to wait actively, knocking on doors, praying, researching, honing skills, living and loving well now. I try to keep myself ready to respond at a moment’s notice for when the command finally comes, all the while wondering if it ever will. I am like one of the ten virgins in Jesus’ wedding story, waiting with my lamp and oil for the bridegroom to show up, doing my best not to fall asleep. “Be dressed and ready for service and keep your lamps burning.” A difficult command. My calling right now. Would you watch and wait with me? It’s so much easier to stay awake when you’re not doing it alone.

 “As the eyes of a maid look to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the LORD our God, till he shows us his mercy.” Psalm 123:2

Squeamish about Spiders

I was attacking a conglomeration of spider webs in the corners of my bathroom today. Seems like that’s one of those household jobs akin to doing the dishes: you’ve barely finished when it’s time to start all over. Those spiders remake their webs as quickly as I can destroy them. I suppose the smart thing would be to go after the spiders themselves. But being a generally warm-hearted person towards all things living (mosquitoes being one exception), I ignore the spiders and simply continue my undying war against their trappings.

How similar to cobwebs are those sticky character issues in our lives. It seems that one occasion of victory is simply followed by another battle along the same vein. How easy to simply focus on cleaning up the mess that crops up in the corners of our lives and miss the insidious spiders causing problems in the first place. Some of the cobwebs that crop up in my life include laziness, impatience and worry about the future. The spider behind the mess simply goes by the name selfishness.

God is not as squeamish about killing some things as I am. He goes right after the spider in His efforts to restore my condition. It is pretty uncomfortable; truth be told, I might prefer to let those spiders live. But the Bible makes it pretty clear: It’s either the spiders or the Spirit. Which one will I partner with today?

“Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.” Galatians 5:24-25

Generous Realities

Lately I have been confronted day in, day out, with a character trait that can make me exceedingly uncomfortable–generosity. I have not had too many situations where my life and livelihood were so daily affected by this quality in people largely strangers to me, and I don’t always know how to respond. Unlike in a restaurant, where tips may be based on quality of service, people generally choose to be generous to me apart from any particular merit on my part; they give even before tasting their drinks. Whenever someone is particularly open-handed I walk away blessed and grateful, with the feeling that I’ve been given a gift I don’t deserve.

Last week after an occasion of this kind of generosity I found myself contemplating what it would be like if God came to my drive-through window. What kind of tipper would He be? My understanding of God’s character makes me think He would have to be one of those alarmingly generous ones who give far more than we would ever expect — the kind of giver who makes our jaw drop a little, that we don’t know how to respond to — and this without any merit on our part.  I’ve known and believed this about God’s character for a long time, but I often find myself living as if it were not true. Life leaves me struggling to trust God’s goodness, His giving nature. I catch myself worrying about finances, not sure whether I’ll have what I need tomorrow. How can I be generous when penny pinching is my reality? I must first realize the alternate reality of how much I’ve been given. When I  ponder all God gives me daily, I am amazed — this sunrise, this work, this body, this cup of sweet and savory coffee, this friend who has stood by me for years, this ability to dream and imagine beautiful things in the future — I am truly blessed by the generosity of God, a generosity that began in the very act of creation. When God created the earth, He made it fruitful, abundant and good. He gave all its richness to us, to steward and enjoy. He made a world where there is more than enough, a world where generosity is possible.

What would it look like to reflect God’s generous character in my life–to shed my own Scrooge-like nature in exchange for the divine? My generous tippers show God to me in ways I often fail to reflect it to others. I am challenged to open my hands wider — to say “yes” to God’s ability to provide in my life, and pour more out on a world just waiting to be turned upside down.