Monday Musings: Be Kind

I wrote and scheduled this post BEFORE the Nice terrorist attack and BEFORE the gunning down of police officers in Baton Rouge just yesterday morning.

But how very timely-as long as we divide the world into “us” and “them” we fuel hatred and acts of violence.  As long as we choose rhetoric rather than reason we encourage a mindset that believes only radical action will spur change.

As I wrote over a week ago, My Heart Hurts.  And I refuse to be part of the division that will only surely result in more death and destruction.

Instead I will choose to be radically kind.

This year has been filled with divisive politics, headlines and heartbreaking reminders of the many ways people can hurt one another.

I have my own opinions and positions on various issues and sometimes they are at odds with those of my friends or acquaintances.

But I am committed to speak, write and interact with everyone I meet in kindness-respecting our differences.

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Because we are all image-bearers of the One True God.

James said, “With our tongues we praise our Lord and Father. Yet, with the same tongues we curse people, who were created in God’s likeness. Praise and curses come from the same mouth. My brothers and sisters, this should not happen!” (James 3:9-10 GW)

Jesus answered the question, “Who is my neighbor?” with a well-known parable that shocked His audience and challenged their preconceived ideas.

As soon as I ask, “Who is my neighbor?” I am trying to draw a circle around who I should and should not be obligated to treat with kindness and love.  

I’m not going to do that.

Henri Nouwen writes:

Kindness is a beautiful human attribute. When we say, “She is a kind person” or “He surely was kind to me,” we express a very warm feeling. In our competitive and often violent world, kindness is not the most frequent response. But when we encounter it we know that we are blessed. Is it possible to grow in kindness, to become a kind person? Yes, but it requires discipline. To be kind means to treat another person as your “kin,” your intimate relative. We say, “We are kin” or “He is next of kin.” To be kind is to reach out to someone as being of “kindred” spirit.

Here is the great challenge: All people, whatever their color, religion, or sex, belong to humankind and are called to be kind to one another, treating one another as brothers and sisters. There is hardly a day in our lives in which we are not called to this.

 I can purpose to listen even when I disagree.  

Long Days

I have plenty to do.  There is no lack of chores around this place-inside and outside always need attention.

I still cook.  I clean.  I bake cakes and can summer vegetables.

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I try to tackle craft projects and make the moments count.

But it is hard.

I used to be someone who made a list, stuck to it and worked my way through it like a battle plan.  First do THIS, then do THAT.  There were always more tasks than daylight.  And I never knew what kinds of unanticipated interruptions might alter my plans.

 

 

Now I still make a list before bed each night. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break.  But I know as I’m writing it that I won’t consult it when I wake up in the morning.

 

Not like I used to do.

I’m an organizer, a planner, a get-it-done, no-mountain-too-high kind of person

Or I was…

 

I never understood people who drifted through the day like there wasn’t somewhere to go, something to do.

Now I am one of them.

 

 

As a fellow bereaved mother said recently in a Facebook comment exchange, “I’m a shadow of my former self”.

And maybe that’s what makes these days so long-the robust person I once was, the active worker bee image that defined my character, the purpose-driven spirit that inhabited this body is gone.

What’s left is someone who looks like me, talks like me and moves like me but isn’t me at all.

Maybe burying Dominic has silenced the noise that drowned out the groaning of my perishable tent.  Maybe I had gotten used to thinking that THIS life was THE life I was created for.

These tents we now live in are like a heavy burden, and we groan. But we don’t do this just because we want to leave these bodies that will die. It is because we want to change them for bodies that will never die.

2 Corinthians 5:4 CEV

I don’t know how to reinvigorate this body. Only God can do that through His Spirit.

So I wait.

I keep trying.

And I remember that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Wrecking Ball of Grace

In the aftermath of loss, relationships suffer.

Sometimes it’s because of harsh words exchanged in the heat of emotional moments.

Sometimes it’s due to disagreements about how to deal with ongoing issues.  Often, it’s because most people just don’t know what to say and don’t know what to do in the presence of great pain and suffering.

Days and weeks and months pass and one day we wake up and realize that a previously close relationship is now distant and strained.

I know that in my grief I have felt abandoned by people I felt sure would stand with me, would never leave me, would be my most stalwart encouragers.

And I know, too, that I have shut some people out.  Some were too chipper or too quick to offer platitudes and others just seemed intolerant of my ongoing pain and sorrow.

Walls have been erected.

My heart sectioned off and my world divided into “us” and “them”.

I’m sorry for that.  That’s not the way I want it to be.

Walls between people are built brick by brick.

A word spoken or not spoken.  A call,  text  or message misinterpreted or mistimed.

But they can be brought down with one blow.

wrecking ball

Grace is a wrecking ball that breaks through walls and stone cold hearts.

Grace given and grace received.  

A call, a text, an email or message that says, “I’m thinking of you.  I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

Or a card sent the old fashioned way filled with love to assure a wounded heart that it is not abandoned or forgotten.

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“”I’m sorry.”

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

It may not be easy and it might take several attempts.

 

 

 

But in the end, who can refuse extended arms and an open heart?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Faith

Part of our homeschooling routine was Bible reading.

I’ll never forget the first time I came to Hebrews chapter 11, often referred to as the “Hall of Faith”.  

It begins:

Now faith means putting our full confidence in the things we hope for, it means being certain of things we cannot see. It was this kind of faith that won their reputation for the saints of old. And it is after all only by faith that our minds accept as fact that the whole scheme of time and space was created by God’s command—that the world which we can see has come into being through principles which are invisible.

Hebrews 11:1-3 PHILLIP

From there the writer lists those who followed God even when the path was dark, even when the promise was beyond sight and even when it cost them their lives.  

I cried.

I remember thinking that maybe one day the children looking at me around that table might face a crisis of faith and I prayed that they would always choose to believe.

I never dreamed that it would be ME that had to wake up each morning and make that choice over and over again.

I’m not talking about the single, life-changing commitment to receive forgiveness through Christ’s blood.

But rather obedience to keep following His lead and strength to walk in His footsteps day after day regardless of how I feel or what I can or cannot see.

The choice I have to make is whether or not to turn my heart toward His, to open my ears to His voice, and to bend my will to accept whatever storms He allows in my life.

Suffering is NOT a choice, but faith is.

The End of the Story?

I have to keep telling myself that no matter how it looks right now, this is not the end of the story.  

Every morning I’m reminded by the “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” of my early rising roosters, that the light is coming….

Read the rest here:  Crowing in the Dark

Keep On Keeping On

The months roll by, the calendar pages turn, soon school will be back in session and you are still not here.

Sometimes I think I have figured out how to do these days that remain between now and when we will be together again.  

And sometimes I realize that I haven’t.

Today is one of those days.

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I miss you.

I love you.

 

 

I can’t round a corner without thinking of you and wishing this was not my life.

But it is.  

So I’ll keep on keeping on.  Just like you would want me to.

Just like you would do.

Even when it’s hard.  

And some days it is so very hard.

Love: No Talent Required

So many times I choose to designate those who are doing great things for the Kingdom of God as having special talent, or a special calling or extraordinary grace.

In doing so I try to excuse myself from my obligations as a Christ follower.

I set those “super Christians” aside as “holy” and “other” to make it easier to trudge blindly on, ignoring the people God places in MY path as MY assignment.

And that is sin.

If my life is too busy to bend down,

if my calendar is too full to make room for helping my neighbor,

if my heart is too hard to break over the pain and suffering and hopelessness that is splattered across headlines and newsfeeds,

then I am not listening to my Savior.

When my heart is turned toward Christ, it is filled with His love, His compassion, His mercy and grace.

Loving others is not a special calling or talent or gift.

It is a command.

[Jesus said] So I give you a new command: Love each other deeply and fully. Remember the ways that I have loved you, and demonstrate your love for others in those same ways. Everyone will know you as My followers if you demonstrate your love to others.

John 13:34-35 VOICE

 

small things with great love

 

 

 

Navigating Treacherous Terrain

One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.

Read the rest here:  It’s Complicated

My Heart Hurts

Every time the headlines scream death and destruction, I feel like I’ve been punched.

My heart hurts.

It hurts for the community of people who feel targeted by police.

It hurts for police officers and their families who feel targeted for simply doing their jobs.

It hurts for the mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters and others who will bury someone this week.

It hurts because the possibility for constructive conversation around what has been done, what should be done and what might be done is drowned out by wailing and yelling and strident protests and incendiary social media posts that leave no room for real change.

We are all on one side or the other.

And that is beyond sad. It is diabolical.

Jesus said that the thief comes only to “steal, kill and destroy”.  (John 10:10)

I refuse to be part of the enemy’s plot to destroy us by dividing us into opposing camps.

No matter where I fall on the political spectrum, if I add my voice to the screaming and drown out reasonable and meaningful discussion, I join with those advocating anarchy instead of progress toward positive change.

We are making choices right now that will affect ourselves, our children and our grandchildren.

I choose to listen.

I choose to learn.

I choose to try to understand different perspectives and to work toward our common goal of protecting all lives.  

Everywhere.  

Every. time.