Yesterday, we hosted Ava's birthday party. Hard to believe that she's already one!
We chose to host both a birthday party and an open house as we have recently bought, remodeled, and moved into a new home (God's gift to us!). As we were working on the house (long days in the hot summer) we kept picturing the moment when our home would be filled with people, feasting on food, stories, friendships.
Yesterday, that vision was realized when, at one point, there were over 60 people from all spheres of our lives packed into our home...feasting.
Monday, December 08, 2008
A hike in the rain
Mondays are both Ava day and Sabbath for me. I love it because it means that I no longer have Monday on my calender...Sunday, Ava-day, Tuesday, Wednesday...
We do a couple of things together every Monday. Eat delicious food, take a nap, go to the grocery store to pick up food for dinner (and flowers for Jac) and go on a hike that has to have a summit. A couple weeks ago, we were on our Sabbath-hike, an opportunity for the two of us to step back and savor the beauty and completeness of God, when it suddenly started to rain. It was cold, windy, and raining and I felt my heart rate increase at the thought of Ava and how stressed out she must have been.
But she didn't make a sound.
I soon realized that she had curled herself as tightly as possible in the Sherpani and as close to me as she could get and had fallen asleep. She was literally sleeping through the storm in the middle of nowhere.
She slept because she was with her Daddy. She slept because she knew that as long as she was close to me, she'd be fine.
Knowing that put her at peace...so she slept.
Usually on our Sabbath hikes, I'm captivated by the views and by listening to my little girl discover the world around her. She squeaks and points when she sees a squirrel or a deer. She follows the flight of the birds and trys to talk them into landing on her outstretched arm.
On this particular hike, I was lulled into worship by her serenity, the internal tranquility in the midst of the external cold storm.
She was close to her daddy.
My experience is the same...there is something about being held by the Father that puts me at peace. There is something about listening to His heartbeat in the midst of storms that tells me that as long as I am curled up next to Him, I'll be fine.
We do a couple of things together every Monday. Eat delicious food, take a nap, go to the grocery store to pick up food for dinner (and flowers for Jac) and go on a hike that has to have a summit. A couple weeks ago, we were on our Sabbath-hike, an opportunity for the two of us to step back and savor the beauty and completeness of God, when it suddenly started to rain. It was cold, windy, and raining and I felt my heart rate increase at the thought of Ava and how stressed out she must have been.
But she didn't make a sound.
I soon realized that she had curled herself as tightly as possible in the Sherpani and as close to me as she could get and had fallen asleep. She was literally sleeping through the storm in the middle of nowhere.
She slept because she was with her Daddy. She slept because she knew that as long as she was close to me, she'd be fine.
Knowing that put her at peace...so she slept.
Usually on our Sabbath hikes, I'm captivated by the views and by listening to my little girl discover the world around her. She squeaks and points when she sees a squirrel or a deer. She follows the flight of the birds and trys to talk them into landing on her outstretched arm.
On this particular hike, I was lulled into worship by her serenity, the internal tranquility in the midst of the external cold storm.
She was close to her daddy.
My experience is the same...there is something about being held by the Father that puts me at peace. There is something about listening to His heartbeat in the midst of storms that tells me that as long as I am curled up next to Him, I'll be fine.
Flesh Colored Hand
Last Sunday at Open Door, my friend Julia wrote and read an incredible piece on Christmas from a journalist's perspective. Check out "The Call of Christmas."
As she read, there was a picture of a mother's hand holding a baby's hand. The unique thing about this image is that the mother's hand was gray-scale while the hand of the baby was flesh colored. Something weird was happening with the projector, casting a blueish hue on the image that eliminated the contrast of the gray and the flesh.
Then, just as she read this, "The omnipotent creator of the universe enters the world in the terrifyingly vulnerable form of a baby, subject to the danger and evils in the world," the projector came into focus and the reality of the flesh colored hand landed with impact in our community.
God works in and through technology to tell His Story.
You could hear the entire community gasp at our collective understanding. Creator, Sustainer, Creator of all became flesh so we could see Him.
As she read, there was a picture of a mother's hand holding a baby's hand. The unique thing about this image is that the mother's hand was gray-scale while the hand of the baby was flesh colored. Something weird was happening with the projector, casting a blueish hue on the image that eliminated the contrast of the gray and the flesh.
Then, just as she read this, "The omnipotent creator of the universe enters the world in the terrifyingly vulnerable form of a baby, subject to the danger and evils in the world," the projector came into focus and the reality of the flesh colored hand landed with impact in our community.
God works in and through technology to tell His Story.
You could hear the entire community gasp at our collective understanding. Creator, Sustainer, Creator of all became flesh so we could see Him.
Where Hope and Fear Meet
Monday was World AIDS Day. Ava and I went to the National AIDS Memorial Garden in San Francisco imagining that we would be two of thousands gathering to remember and to envision solution. Here's what we experienced...
We arrive in Golden Gate Park and pulled immediately into one of many parking spots still available. "Bizarre," I thought. We rolled down the path to a huge white tent filled, not with thousands, but with a couple hundred people, mostly representing the homosexual community quietly gathered in remembrance. The featured speakers were a family of five: mom, daughter, son, and adopted Ethiopian son all were HIV positive. Their story was a riveting one of living HIV positive in a world ravaged by both HIV/AIDS and misunderstanding. Once through, we were all invited to the "Circle of Friends" where the names added to the memorial were to be read with a bell rung in their honor.
Ava and I, knowing no one there, nor anyone whose name was going to be read, felt like going to the "Circle of Frinds" was exactly where we should be.
As the names were read and the bell rang out, I was struck with two stark voids:
1. Where was the mention of HIV/AIDS as a global pandemic that is ravaging our world? I wondered to myself, as I walked for nearly an hour after the ceremony, what World AIDS Day might have been like in South Africa. Where, as all are victims of HIV/AIDS, the experience of those in the majority world couldn't be more different than those I stood with in San Francisco on this day. So many, globally, are not people of influence with opportunity and freedom, but are true victims of exploitation, violence, and poverty resulting in an infection for which there is no solution.
2. Where was the Church? I've never, in my life, been in a place where fear dominated hope more than in the "Circle of Friends" that day. Perhaps the reason there was no hope was because Christians have taken such a polemic stand against homosexuality that simply choose not to be associated with local HIV/AIDS. You can't bring hope when your posture is against.
Perhaps hope and fear did meet on World AIDS Day in San Francisco this year. Ava and I got to be there standing with...
Jesus stood in the Circle of Friends with arms outstretched
We arrive in Golden Gate Park and pulled immediately into one of many parking spots still available. "Bizarre," I thought. We rolled down the path to a huge white tent filled, not with thousands, but with a couple hundred people, mostly representing the homosexual community quietly gathered in remembrance. The featured speakers were a family of five: mom, daughter, son, and adopted Ethiopian son all were HIV positive. Their story was a riveting one of living HIV positive in a world ravaged by both HIV/AIDS and misunderstanding. Once through, we were all invited to the "Circle of Friends" where the names added to the memorial were to be read with a bell rung in their honor.
Ava and I, knowing no one there, nor anyone whose name was going to be read, felt like going to the "Circle of Frinds" was exactly where we should be.
As the names were read and the bell rang out, I was struck with two stark voids:
1. Where was the mention of HIV/AIDS as a global pandemic that is ravaging our world? I wondered to myself, as I walked for nearly an hour after the ceremony, what World AIDS Day might have been like in South Africa. Where, as all are victims of HIV/AIDS, the experience of those in the majority world couldn't be more different than those I stood with in San Francisco on this day. So many, globally, are not people of influence with opportunity and freedom, but are true victims of exploitation, violence, and poverty resulting in an infection for which there is no solution.
2. Where was the Church? I've never, in my life, been in a place where fear dominated hope more than in the "Circle of Friends" that day. Perhaps the reason there was no hope was because Christians have taken such a polemic stand against homosexuality that simply choose not to be associated with local HIV/AIDS. You can't bring hope when your posture is against.
Perhaps hope and fear did meet on World AIDS Day in San Francisco this year. Ava and I got to be there standing with...
Jesus stood in the Circle of Friends with arms outstretched
Pakistan 3 years ago.
Last Sunday marked the three-year anniversary of my experience in Pakistan--one of the most significantly formational experiences of my life.
Where as, then, the country was ravaged by an earthquake...now--it is war.
My heart is torn as I continually read about the unrest and chaos in the tribal villages of northern Pakistan where I fell in love with a community of people being painted as terrorists.
My mouth goes dry as I imagine a two-front war that Pakistan may be engaged in before long. I wonder about Mumtaz, Afzal, Farooq, Zaighum, and Shakoor. Will they have to fight this war? Which war will they fight in? How will their families be impacted by more war? Will Shakoor and Afzal get to spend time with their new brides? Will Mumtaz's kids wonder where their daddy is? How will Ziaghum's family stay warm this winter? Does Shakoor still remember The Lord's Prayer?
God, why is this happening?
Where as, then, the country was ravaged by an earthquake...now--it is war.
My heart is torn as I continually read about the unrest and chaos in the tribal villages of northern Pakistan where I fell in love with a community of people being painted as terrorists.
My mouth goes dry as I imagine a two-front war that Pakistan may be engaged in before long. I wonder about Mumtaz, Afzal, Farooq, Zaighum, and Shakoor. Will they have to fight this war? Which war will they fight in? How will their families be impacted by more war? Will Shakoor and Afzal get to spend time with their new brides? Will Mumtaz's kids wonder where their daddy is? How will Ziaghum's family stay warm this winter? Does Shakoor still remember The Lord's Prayer?
God, why is this happening?
Addicted...
I began writing this post quite some time ago...
Here is an interesting perspective that I resonate with. It comes from Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz.
"I saw this great interview on CNN with Tom Arnold, the comedian. He just wrote a book called, How I Lost 5 Pounds in 6 Years: An Autobiography. The interviewer asked him, 'Why did you write this book?' Arnold said—and my respect for him just went through the roof when I heard him say this—'The reason I wrote this book is because I am a broken person, and I do things to get people to love me.'"
I'm trying to remember what resonated with me so. I can't. My life and experience is so different now than it was a year ago when I began this reflection. It's amazing, really, how that works. You write something...you revisit it...you realize that things are different now...you reflect on if things are different positive or different negative.
As it pertains to this, I think it's different positive. I don't find myself "doing things to get people to love me" much anymore. Where as, once upon a time, that may have been the case, I feel that my expression of living now is much more of a response to Love than for love.
I spent a lot of time doing to get people to love me. Was that time well invested? Did I flourish or languish? My heart says I languished.
Hmm...
Here is an interesting perspective that I resonate with. It comes from Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz.
"I saw this great interview on CNN with Tom Arnold, the comedian. He just wrote a book called, How I Lost 5 Pounds in 6 Years: An Autobiography. The interviewer asked him, 'Why did you write this book?' Arnold said—and my respect for him just went through the roof when I heard him say this—'The reason I wrote this book is because I am a broken person, and I do things to get people to love me.'"
I'm trying to remember what resonated with me so. I can't. My life and experience is so different now than it was a year ago when I began this reflection. It's amazing, really, how that works. You write something...you revisit it...you realize that things are different now...you reflect on if things are different positive or different negative.
As it pertains to this, I think it's different positive. I don't find myself "doing things to get people to love me" much anymore. Where as, once upon a time, that may have been the case, I feel that my expression of living now is much more of a response to Love than for love.
I spent a lot of time doing to get people to love me. Was that time well invested? Did I flourish or languish? My heart says I languished.
Hmm...
Stark Contrast
I was on a run on not too long ago with my friend Jeff. Jeff went to Pakistan with me, is 61 years old, and is the one who challenged me with the $250.00 "live for the good of the world" challenge that I brought to Open Door.
"Yes." I said.
The tree was alive and thriving...a stark contrast to everything in it's surrounding.
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