Less shouting, more talking.

Over the past three months, I have been off dealing with numerous medical issues. Therefore, I have had a lot of time to study, think, and pray.  This time of medical challenge for me has coincided with a period of severe national distress.  It is apparent that our country, our states, our cities, our communities, and our families are in DESPERATE need of unity and revival. 

One of the more distressing aspects of the response to the events of these past weeks and months has been witnessing the often vacuous way in which our national discourse occurs.  Worldviews are constructed from anecdotal experience rather than emanating from core principles, education derives from memes and tweets rather than classical books, debate, or lectures, and virtue is signaled by what we do or don't post on social media versus how we live our lives in community. 

The need for unity has never been greater, and yet the division seems to be worsening.  The source of the matter remains what it has always been when it comes to societal discord: pride and self centeredness foster a bitterness and hate that makes a common ground impossible to cultivate. 

Though I have some clear policy ideas, I am persuaded that our only hope as a nation is for God to intervene.  We need a different kind of revolution than what we are seeing.  A spiritual revival is our only hope.  We need to have the mind of Christ as outlined in Paul's letter to the Philippians: 

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others."

Since becoming a Christian, I have endeavored to look at all people the way God sees them, trying to see from His perspective, with love and concern for their ultimate/eternal good. The fact is, we are all one race, the human race.  God has made it clear that He loves the whole world, so, who am I to do less than that?  We would be a better country if this idea took hold.

With the right heart attitude of humility and mutual concern, I believe some common ground is achievable. But, what saddens me is that the personal connection required to promote the conversations needed to solve real problems are sabotaged by narratives that foment hate, distrust, and division. Dialogue is sacrificed on the altar of politically correct "woke-ness" and all too often anger is the response to disagreement.     

It should be self-evident that unprovoked or excessive police brutality and the tragedy of unnecessary loss of life, such as occurred with George Floyd, are heinous evils that should be opposed and punished.  There is also no doubt that there are remnants of the institutions of slavery and Jim Crow that have impaired the rise of black Americans in our society over the last 150 years.  

However,  in the current climate, there seems to be no method by which we can disagree about the best steps to be taken to even the playing field and lessen the impact of systemic disadvantages of slavery and Jim Crow and promote equal opportunity for all.  These are things that are needed, but we should never fall into the notion that equal opportunity implies equal outcomes.  What policies and methods taken to level inequality are certainly up for debate, though you would have a hard time knowing there is any debate in our current racially charged political climate.  These discussions are impossible because emotions are permitted to rule over data and facts.   

The notion of systemic institutionalized racism as manifested by police brutality is probably the most poignant and powerful emotional tool used to end debate and initiate demands for action on race issues.  But what of the facts?  Recognizing that there are limits to sociological analyses and pitfalls with interpretation of databases, a mountain of data strongly suggest that there is actually not a systematic attack by police on black people:

https://www.pnas.org/content/116/34/16793   

https://scholar.harvard.edu/fryer/publications/empirical-analysis-racial-differences-police-use-force

https://www.wsj.com/articles/the-myth-of-systemic-police-racism-11591119883

https://www.city-journal.org/terrifying-collapse-of-the-rule-of-law

Digging into the Washington Post database on police shootings and FBI crime data as laid out in the articles above (and other reports) simply does not support the popular narrative of an "open season" on black people or a marked over representation of blacks as targets of police brutality, which is the very foundation for the national riots and violent protests.  Even granting that there is likely some discrepancy and over-representation of blacks, the question of severity remains, and making the claim of systemic institutionalized racism is just not supportable by facts.  There are many excellent commentaries on this topic if one is open minded and interested in examining them further (feel free to disregard political leanings of the commentators and just hear them out on the data).  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQCQFH5wOJo&t=8s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmrDUGgDC7U&t=1234s (1st 20ish min)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ThRb9x-RieI&t=22s 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qwif8PF1EI

What the riots and violence do is provide a distraction for a truly systemic issue.  They serve to excuse or provide cover for the mismanagement of communities, cities, and states led by leftists that have had disproportionately negative impact on black communities and families for decades. If one dares to contradict the foundational principles of the Black Lives Matter movement or call into question institutionalized racism, then you are somehow disqualified from having anything else to say about how to make meaningful changes in the lives of black people, and by extension any disadvantaged people groups.    

I reject the notion that to be sensitive to the plight of black people requires an agreement with leftist, socialist political theories in order to deal with past injustices.  I reject the notion that my skin color makes me personally guilty of the wrongs that have been and are currently being committed against black people and therefore make me unqualified to speak any word of dissent.  It is my strong opinion (supported by evidence I am happy to share) that the left and democratic policies have hurt, not helped the black community, and should be resisted.  Since the 1960s, leftist policies are entrapping more and more lower economic classes in a dependency state and this increasingly includes whites, Hispanics,  native Americans, but have disproportionally affected the black community.   What is clear to me after reading and listening to vast sources on these topics is that this is a long social, political, and economic discussion.  It is my goal to give a reasonable foundation for discussion.   

This IS a conversation and debate worth having!  Unfortunately, the fact remains that the very conversation we need to have can not even be started in the current climate, where disagreement with the party line is shouted down as racist and tone deaf.  The acceptance of the widely held narrative of blacks being hunted or as the persistent and unending victims of institutionalized systemic discrimination should be subjected to analysis. 

I believe we should discuss the best way to promote the flourishing and success of all our fellow humans.   We need to reject the unending fostering of identity politics, the growth of the dependency culture, and the fueling of distrust that divides groups from each other. Failure to do so will only lead to an enduring national tragedy and ultimately undermine the fabric of our free society.

Despite its many flaws, I believe that the United States is still the greatest experiment in human liberty and self government and has generated the most successful economy in human history, as well as the most tolerant and inclusive society as well, and is therefore a nation that is still worth fighting for.  

Blushing Alone

Dear Child-O-Mine,

I have a few things to say to you.  First of all, get your pajamas off the bathroom floor.

Secondly, I found your logic book.  In the linen closet.  Hmm.

Thirdly, I saw that look you gave me this afternoon when you walked by the living room...and saw me laughing...all alone in an empty room.  

That look said so many things to me--things like, "Oh great.  Mom's crying again.  Wait!  She's...laughing.  Who's in there? No one? What the heck?!  Crying I get, but I have no context for this. Wow.  Someone has to be in there.  Nope. No one. She is literally laughing out loud at nothing. It's finally happened.  She's officially crazy. Should I pretend I didn't see her?  I could walk fast. Rats. She saw me. This is awkward."

What you said was, "Heeeeyyy, Mom.  Um?  I'm just going downstairs now." 

It is a testament to how well I know you that I could divine the subtext in that statement, but I want to set your mind at ease.

I'm not crazy.  

Well, I don't think I'm crazy, but come to think of it, if I WAS crazy I wouldn't be qualified to evaluate that for myself, so the best I can say is that I don't think I'm crazy.  

Actually, no one has ever told me for sure one way or the other, and I've never asked.

Whatever. Maybe I am crazy. 

I don't know. 

Ask your dad. If he says yes, then you can stop reading because I don't want you listening to crazy people, but if he says no, I have something important to tell you, and it is this:
 

The older I get, the more time I spend laughing with myself. At myself.  (And at you, but because of your age, I try to do it quietly when you aren't looking.)

Because it has come to my attention that we are all pretty funny and you are still too young to realize it, but I am telling you.  

Humans are funny.  

I want you to know this because the ability to laugh at ourselves and our common tendencies will help keep us from being overly hard on ourselves and getting overly irritated with others.  

Let me give you some examples. When I was young, I spent my time on *really important things*, like planning my life out, and imagining that my plans were going to work out according to schedule.  

See?  Isn't that funny?  No?  

Wait a few decades and it will be.  

Now, I am not saying you shouldn't think about and plan for your future, but you should hold that plan more like a fragile and beautiful butterfly and less like a ketchup bottle.

Another funny thing is the many hours I spent studying the cool people at school, practicing being cool, and pretending it was actually working for me.  I only mention this because of the times I have seen you practicing your hair flip in the bathroom mirror. In hindsight, I probably could have dispensed with the whole "coolness" project since it ended up being of dubious value.

Unfortunately, I didn't yet realize that just by virtue of being young, I was ahead of the game.  Since you are still young, I am going to tell you a secret which will save you a lot of time and effort, and it is this:

There is some manner in which everything the young do is infused with beauty because, well, youth is beautiful.  You don't have to spend all that time worrying about it.  

You're beautiful. 

That is why everyone is enamored with tiny babies, whose entire skill set is blowing spit bubbles and babbling, but yet no one really wants to see the same thing from a person on the other end of the age spectrum.  

It also explains some of the fashion decisions that the young can pull off (or almost pull off) that would look utterly ridiculous on the old. 

So listen up!  You and your friends might think you look amazing because of the hours you have spent practicing your duck lips and your peace signs and your signature-selfie expressions (you know--that perfect facial balance between cynical, worldly-wise, and amused).  But guess what?  

That's not why you look amazing. You look amazing simply because you are young.  And you have a small window for it.  So stop trying so hard and just enjoy it!

The truth is, a teenager could roll out of bed, assemble an outfit from her grandma's closet--blindfolded--top it with a haircut inspired by a poodle, and still look better falling down the stairs than I look after an hour in hot rollers, two layers of make-up, and three Instagram filters.

Ah, Child!  The day will come when you will accidentally leave your selfie screen on, look into your backpack, and for just a moment, think your Grandpa Joe fell in there and is crying out for help. With his nostrils. 

I speak from experience.

Anyhoo, having gotten all that youth out of the way, now I get to sit and just chuckle over the hilarity of being human.

Which brings me to what you witnessed today.  

 So, here is what happened BEFORE you came into the room:  

I was tidying the living room when I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye that looked like a fat, black hamster peeking out from under the couch. (Yes, I know we don't own a fat, black hamster.  If I had taken a minute to evaluate the situation, I might have taken a different path.)  

Anyway, I lifted my foot mid-step to avoid stepping on the imaginary rodent, emitted a strangled scream, did a flailing twist and planted my leg in a half-split on the couch--where I teetered for a half second, before flopping backwards and landing in a wedge between the coffee table and the front of the sofa.

Then (and this is what made me laugh), even though I KNEW I was alone, I looked around and BLUSHED.  Why?  Who was there to care?  Me?  I was the one who did the cringe-worthy acrobatics.  Why should I blush over it?

And that made me stop to consider why we all care so much about not looking foolish or stupid in front of others.  And how we don't even need "others" to be embarrassed because sometimes we are embarrassed by something we have done when we are the only ones in the room.

How is that even possible?  Is the imaginary audience I live for so powerful that it is impossible for me to actually ever be alone in my own head? 

Am I really like the diva who cannot imagine that the world doesn't care every time she picks her nose?

Apparently.

And that silly, vain, dichotomous aspect of humanity made me laugh out loud.  See?  Funny!  

Or maybe to you it seems deadly serious.  I know it did to me at your age, and sometimes it still does, but what happened today just made me want to reassure you that you are not alone in the universe of people who care at the very core of their being about being seen.  And not just being seen, but being seen in the best possible light.

Here's another thing about your mother.  At your age, in addition to my obsession over avoiding embarrassment, I was also unhealthily preoccupied with being liked, to the point that I sometimes did things that were foolish and out of character, just because I thought they might raise me up a notch in someone else's eyes.  

Of course, being foolish is only ever foolish, and the only people who think otherwise are fools, but back when I was your age, I was insecure enough to court the approval of anyone and everyone, and since the fools always seemed the quickest to offer theirs up, I ran with it.  To my shame.  

Here is what I have learned since then.  All approval is not created equal.  Loud laughter often covers up large foolishness, and the approval that comes from it melts away quickly.  

Conversely, the respect that comes from noble and wise people is gained by living honorably and honestly and takes more time and effort to gain, but it has weight and value and longevity.  

It is like the difference between the backyard fires that you build with old Amazon boxes and the ones that you light with seasoned wood.  

I wish the simple act of growing up could cure us of the tendency to care about feeble applause from braggarts and fools, but I am sad to report that many grown ups spend an obscene amount of time staging their clothes, houses, and their social media accounts--and parading (or concealing) their children and spouses and friends in order to put themselves in the best light.

So why do we care so deeply about being seen?  And why not just seen, but approved of?  Why is our worth tied up so tightly with being "good" at what we do? (Good mother, good spouse, good friend, good at sports, good employee, good looking, good at managing life, good as a person.)

Why do we spend so much of our lives collecting praise, affirmation, and approval--to the point that we create entire fake worlds on social media and waste hours remaking our faces and wardrobes and houses and families and bodies to fit the mold of what is considered cool and attractive by the cultures in which we live?

If you can answer these questions definitively you will put hundreds of social scientists out of work and you have my permission to skip college.  

If not, don't worry.  I just want you to know that the deep need to be seen and known and valued and loved is real and relentless--not just in you, but in all of us.

But here is another true thing:  the longer you live, the more you will realize that no human accolade, or accomplishment, or award, no level of notoriety, no amount of fame or Facebook likes or Instagram followers--not even the most intimate and passionate human love can meet this hunger in us.  


And that might not sound good, but it is, because this insatiable hunger for acknowledgment and significance can drive us to look for the One who can satisfy it.

God.

If we manage to see through our vast feelings of self importance--when we realize that ultimately, one way or another, everyone leaves us and no one REALLY knows us (and few even try to)--we might look up and try to find out Who it is that our hearts are seeking so desperately

My private theory is that God very much wants us to feel the weight of His gaze. 

I think the innate desire to be known, loved, enjoyed, and approved of is planted deep within us--as the answering echo to His invitation to meet those longings, fully and completely.

And the promise is that if we seek Him, we will find Him (Matthew 7:7-8) and finally have a chance to wonder at the enormity of being intimately known and loved by the Creator of the Universe.

We want to matter.  We do not crave mere existence (like beasts), but rather have an intrinsic sense that we are eternally significant beings in possession of a worth so profound and beautiful that even the mundane pursuits of life are infused with deep meaning.  

It is why even though it is ubiquitous, universal, and inescapable, death shocks us and feels like a cosmic impossibility right up to the moment it takes us or our loved ones.

In fact, we put so much importance on finding meaning in life and securing the good opinion of others that the absence of those things is one of the few things that can drive us to despair and suicide.  

 I believe that God lets us feel the weight of the life we live "Coram Deo" to call us back to Himself--to remind us that His voice is the strongest and truest one in a cacophonous choir of mutterings.

There are so many whisperings and lies down here.  

But this is the truth:

You are at this moment a priceless treasure, immortal, irreplaceable, infinitely important--because of the inestimable price that was paid for you by the King of all Kings.  He made you and loves you with all of your quirks and individuality.  


He gave you your gifts and wrote you into His story before the foundation of the world, and even now--when you cannot always decipher your feelings and cannot figure out your purpose and cannot even trust your voice to emerge in the right octave when you speak, He draws you along by his mighty Spirit. (Ephesians 1:3-5, Romans 5:6-8,
Ephesians 2:10)

And this is the most important thing, Sweet Child of Mine: Ultimately, His opinion of you is the only one that matters because it is the only one that lasts forever.  

So dispense with the courting of fools and the cultivation of image.

The creation of persona and the staging of online illusions.

The collecting of accolades and the compiling of likes.

The pursuit of the perfect hair flip and the blushing over imaginary hamsters.

It is meaningless.  A chasing after wind.

   Psalm 139 says:

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

    you discern my thoughts from afar.

 You search out my path and my lying down

    and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

    behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

 You hem me in, behind and before,

    and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

    it is high; I cannot attain it.

Where shall I go from your Spirit?

    Or where shall I flee from your presence?

 If I ascend to heaven, you are there!

    If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

 If I take the wings of the morning

    and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

    and your right hand shall hold me.

 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

    and the light about me be night,”

 even the darkness is not dark to you;

    the night is bright as the day,

    for darkness is as light with you.

 For you formed my inward parts;

    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

    my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

in your book were written, every one of them,

    the days that were formed for me,

    when as yet there was none of them.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!

    How vast is the sum of them!

 If I would count them, they are more than the sand.

    I awake, and I am still with you...

...Search me, O God, and know my heart!

    Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,

    and lead me in the way everlasting!

Mamas in the Middle

There was a woman who lived in evil days.  She and her husband clung to their faith--not perfectly (it is so hard when everyone around you is running from God), but enough to know that their miracle baby belonged to God and enough to try to raise him up to know and honor his Maker.  

But the miracle baby didn't want to know and honor his Maker.  He absorbed enough of his parents' faith to make him keep to the externals (because the externals were of benefit to him), but his heart was wild and his appetites ruled him.  

His mother pleaded with him to choose wise companions, but he didn't.  She warned him about loose women, so he married one.

And then things really went wrong.  

He gave up almost everything he had ever been taught about life and godliness.  His parents helplessly watched and grieved and prayed as he partied himself into oblivion.  He bragged about his amazing self and created a stench all over the county.  He made promises he couldn't keep and betrayed his friends.  He mistreated his wife and made so many enemies around town that out of revenge, they killed her.  

Even then his selfishness was not satiated. 

Everywhere he went, he led with his pride and his anger and his lust, stirring up strife and hatred and war and danger for himself and everyone whose life touched his.

And I picture his mother watching her boy all the while in dismay and disbelief--this extraordinary baby grown gluttonous fiend--and trying to reconcile the two dichotomous beings in her mind.  

Her precious, protected boy--now wasted and laying waste.  

Her God-sent, God-blessed gift, profaning himself and sowing destruction on others with his mouth and his hands.

The beautiful boy who had sat at her knee in the light of her pure mother's love--now more apt to be lying with his head in the lap of a prostitute. 

The miracle baby in the story was Samson.  

His life is laid out in all its hair-raising detail in the book of Judges, but buried in a tiny parenthetical phrase is a jewel of truth I had never noticed before now.

"His father and mother had no idea that God was behind this." (Judges 14:4) 

God was behind this?  This what?  

This giving-over of a privately consecrated life to all manner of public wickedness?

This hideous profaning of a beautiful gift?  

Step by ugly step?  In the sight of God and man...and mother? 

God was behind this?  


That is exactly what it says. 

The One who sees all, knows all, loves perfectly, and judges rightly did not prevent Samson from gorging himself on folly.  

Because in his case, it both accomplished the judging of the evil Philistines, (Judges 14:4) and it got Samson to the point where, after ignoring God for most of his life, he was finally humble enough to call on the Lord again. (Judges 17:28) 

I read the story of Samson this evening with my boys.  They were horrified and fascinated, just like I was when I read it as a child, but tonight I met the ancient account with the sinking feeling that there might be nothing I can do to preserve some of my children from living it to some degree--that they might one day either be devoured by the culture we live in or by the desires of their own hearts.  

I have children who are ruled by their passions too--some because their minds are clouded and torn by the trauma of their early childhood, and some because they are dancing to the siren song only heard by the exceptionally gifted and strong.  

I have children who are in a constant battle between what they know and what they feel deeply.  I have tasted the pain of the chaos that tempts them and the sting of the grief they feel in the aftermath.

But I cannot turn their wills any more than I can turn the wind. I can speak truth but I cannot make them believe it. I can lead them, but I cannot make them follow.


And if they throw their lives to the wind?  What will I do?

What if that is what God allows for one of my children?  Can I not trust that He will see us through?  

Easy is never promised.

Look at where He took Job.

Look at Jacob's ugly path to sanctification.

At Joseph's years of rejection and uncertainty.

At Elizabeth's and Sarah's years of shame.

At Paul's bloody past.

At Rahab's disgrace and Naomi's life of desperation and bitterness.

Look at where God took His own Son.

But I also know that the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.  And I know God loves my family more than I do.

So if some of my children walk a path that is bloody and circuitous and uncertain, will I live in fear and despair, or fight for joy and keep walking by faith? 

Will my desperation drive me away from the only source of strength and hope I have ever known, or will it make me cling harder to the Rock that is higher than I?

I know God to be good and wise.  Loving toward all He has made.  Patient and long-suffering.  Forgiving.  Gentle and kind beyond measure.
Scripture overflows with His beauty and love. 


 He has promised to work in and through all things for His glory and the good of His children.

Can I not trust the One who created my children, loves them, and put them in my home--to do right by them?  

Does He promise that I will like what that looks like?

Will I always understand the wisdom of a God who sees beyond my horizons and exceeds my depth by endless fathoms?  

The beginning of a thing rarely looks like the middle and the middle is not the end. 

Can I count it a kindness that He carries the knowledge of what He is doing in our story because He knows it would crush me to try?

I cannot reconcile by love or by logic why some of my children are walking a hard road, or what my part is in it.  I think of the hours and years of loving and teaching and praying I have done, and my honest prayer is that they would nestle in to the heart of God and live there. 

But if they don't, may I remember--

"His father and mother had no idea that God was behind this."

 And have the courage to wait.

\

A Tale of Two Frenemies

I have these two "friends" giving me such a hard time right now.  

You know how sometimes you hang out with one person a lot, and this other person sometimes, but you can't really hang out all together because your two friends can't even stand each other? 

And then whenever you are with one, the other one is like, "So I saw your post from Thursday night.  You tried to crop So-and-so out, but I totally saw her arm in the picture.  Is that why you weren't texting me back?  What did she say about me?"  

And then you have to assure her that her name truly never came up because the last thing you want to do is spend your evening rehashing "All the ways So-and-so is trying to ruin my life."

And your other friend hears that you and the first friend talked and then she gets this quiet look of betrayal and her eyes fill up with tears and she spends two hours pouting while you make conversation with yourself.  

And you're tempted to ditch one friend and just hang with the other because you are SOOO sick of the drama, but you can't do it because they both bring something important to your life.  

Like, the one is somewhat hard to be around because she's the total opposite of you and a little crazy, but she's really challenging and she makes you think and spurs you to become stronger in your own beliefs, but the other is such a gentle soul and her very presence infuses your spirit with light and peace and you can't really imagine your life without either one.  

It's so much fun, right?

So, I grew up with one of these friends.  Her name is "Gratitude" and I can't say enough about how sweet she is.  A little high maintenance, if you must know--always getting her feelings hurt and needing reassurance that you still value her, but overall worth the investment because her very existence lifts you to a higher plane.

Then a few years back, I met a gal named "Pain".  To be honest I couldn't stand her at first, and even now, I don't call her.  She calls me.  And for some reason, I can't say no.  We have a sort of love/hate relationship.  She comes around and wreaks havoc and drags me around, and I never enjoy it at the time, but later, I see she has sharpened my thinking, inspired me, grown me beyond my borders.  She is like a disease, but somehow she leaves me better and stronger.  

I still dread her visits, but perhaps a little less each time?  I don't know.

Her friends though!  Awful creatures.  Always lurking in the background, smirking.  Dangerous.  They go by the names "Anger" and "Fear" and I don't trust them any farther than they can throw me.  

But here's the problem.  

Pain and Gratitude are arch enemies.  Or that is what they've told themselves, and I'm in the middle trying to keep the peace.

Their spat began a few years back--well actually, it was right after the Garden of Eden--and ever since then they can barely stand to be in the same zip code.

In fact, they don't ever like to occupy the same space, but Gratitude is the more delicate and skittish of the two.  

For instance, for a while, Gratitude and I were roommates and Pain called and needed a place to stay.  Wouldn't you know, Gratitude packs up and moves out in a huff.  

Pain is not quite as fickle.  

Since then, I have felt lucky if Gratitude shows up at my place with an overnight bag.  But Pain often comes with a moving truck, and after she has established residence, even if I have managed to wheedle and coax Gratitude to return for a visit, Pain tries to move her to a cot in the attic and take over the rest of the house--with her weird friends. 

If I do not keep a careful watch, Anger and Fear typically try to arrive within hours or days of Pain, and they also don't play well with Gratitude.  

Every time Gratitude tries to open her mouth, Anger and Fear tell her to shut up, and then they try to convince me that Gratitude is a liar and a pervert and that their version of reality is the right one and that we ought to tie Gratitude up and starve her in the basement.  

On the other hand, Pain's nasty friends demand to have sole access to the fridge, as well as full possession of my conscious thoughts.  You can't imagine how irritating that is!

They drink up my energy and leave the empty cans lying around.  They leave alarming smells in the corridors of my mind and put their stinky feet up on my mental furniture.  

They sleep in all the beds and leave disgusting stains on my convictions.  

They doodle on the pages of my first edition copies of truth, and rifle through my well organized thoughts.  

Complaining about the fresh air of faith and the light of hope, they shut the windows and draw the drapes, belching up their foul doubts and the darkness of dread into every corner of every room.  

If Gratitude survives this onslaught, she often grows thin and pale, gasping out her encouragements with frail, wispy words that dribble out of her mouth and fall in sad little piles at her feet.  (Honestly, I think Gratitude likes to play up her fragility, and it is difficult not to become irritated at her helpless flutterings in the wake of Pain's visits.)

Sometimes Gratitude becomes so quiet I can't even find her, although I know she must still be in the house since (last I knew) she was too sick to leave her bed...

...unless she has managed to slip out and disappear altogether.  She does that sometimes.  And then I am just left alone to contend with Anger and Fear--a prisoner in the equivalent of an emotional frat house, with two flaccid, debauched slobs who never plan to graduate and spend their days slouching around the house in filthy clothes, laughing at their own lewd jokes and leering at me from dark corners.

Sometimes it's my own fault and in a moment of insanity, I invite Pain and her friends into my life.

But sometimes they just show up and despite my door locks and deadbolts and home security systems, they make it into my life and set up camp.  

What then?

This is an important question because Pain is a frequent caller in the lives of most of us, and her friends often sneak in with her, so unless the above scenario sounds appealing, we'd best figure out a coping strategy sooner than later.  (If you haven't experienced this yet, sorry to break it to you--you will.)

This decade has been rough.  I have chronicled that story in a previous post. Since I wrote that, we have gone through an injury resulting in a serious surgery, the loss of a job, struggles and pain in some very close relationships, and an Autism diagnosis for one of our children.  

Even without the external hardships, Jamey and I have long struggled with feeling like inadequate parents.  We feel under-trained and over-tasked.  We are two selfish introverts in a perpetual circus.

And the schedule is brutal.  And there are clowns.

Lots of clowns.  

So is it any wonder that we struggle to live in a spirit of thankfulness?

And yet, we know there is gratitude to be had, and we do not want our children to think that living in a joyless house with sticky floors and cranky parents and broken...everything...is their fate.  

We want to make a place where Gratitude and her friends, Joy and Peace can unpack their things and stay.  I'm not saying that Pain will ever leave, but we can at least make her come alone and abide by the house rules. 

Actually, although her visits always leave a mark, I've made peace with the fact that Pain is a useful part of my life.  In some ways she is the yin to Gratitude's yang.

When Pain knocks out some of my smug self-confidence, Gratitude reminds me of where my confidence should lie.

When Pain destroys my beloved health or wellness or sense of security, Gratitude comes behind and points out all the lovely things that are left to me--often things that I had overlooked before.

When Pain wrecks my plans, Gratitude points beyond the horizon to the hope of things eternal and unseen (2 Corinthians 4:18) and to the time of all things made new (Revelation 21:1-8).

Pain pries our hands off the useless pursuits of things on earth (Ecclesiastes 1:14).  Gratitude gives us a vision for opportunities of eternal significance (Colossians 2:7, Matthew 6:33). 

They really should be friends, because as much as we may wish it were not so, we need both the rest that accompanies Gratitude and the agitation Pain provides.  The  pleasure is keener in light of the sting and the sweet plays well off of the spicy.

As for Anger and Fear, well, I haven't much use for them.  Ideally, I want them to either see the light, airy spaces in our house and feel too uncomfortable to stay, or else be evicted by "the expulsive power of a greater affection" (Thomas Chalmers)--specifically our great love for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ (Colossians 3:15-17)

Meanwhile, I want to neither dread the challenging acerbity of Pain, nor fail to nurture the gentle affections of Gratitude in my life.

While they may always share an uneasy peace with one other, together I think they both make me better. 

**********

James 1:2-4

 Count it all joy, my brothers, 

when you meet trials of various kinds,  

for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.  

And let steadfastness have its full effect, 

that you may be perfect and complete, 

lacking in nothing.

2018 Christmas Letter

I remember holding a Christmas card from some faraway friends when I was a child and reading a letter about the amazing exploits of their children, accompanied by a polished and perfect photo of their family seated in front of their Christmas tree.  I wish I could say that my young spirit rejoiced in their smashing successes and their obvious upward trajectory in life, but I am ashamed to say that I remember my heart constricting under the weight of my own keenly felt mediocrity.

Our family was so normal, and our lives were so mundane in comparison to our friends—and usually I was content to have it so.  In fact, I see now that I had a supremely charmed childhood, but at that moment, in the bright glare of another family’s yearly highlight reel, shadows fell over my own good life and gave rise to a seedling of discontent.
  
Now, by the grace of Facebook, we all get the hour by hour opportunity to hold the nitty gritty of our real lives up against the airbrushed high points of our friends’ lives and either feel inadequate or elated over the steady stream of exciting events and achievements of hundreds of close friends, acquaintances, and strangers. I hope you do better at that balance than I do.  The number of prayer requests alone and the myriad opportunities to serve special people can lead to emotional overload and even burnout if we are not careful.
  
I confess to adding a skewed picture of our good life to your Facebook feed this year.  Yes, we had some real triumphs—a college graduation, sports victories, sweet moments of familial bliss, miscellaneous academic successes, celebrations of friendship, and milestones of growth in our children.

But we also had (more) health scares, job losses, moments of selfishness and squabbling, broken friendships, and moments when we didn’t live up to anyone’s standards of kindness, goodness, or self-control.  Trust me, no one wants to see those lowlights, but neither do I want anyone to think we have achieved model family status.
  
So, what is my point? And what is the use of a Christmas letter in an age of social media?  I guess I am glad of the opportunity to lay down a tangible expression of gratitude to the God who SEES.  In some manner, I feel that we humans have a desperation to both see and be seen (otherwise why would we spend an average of two hours a day chasing information and approbation on our phones?)

And Christmas is the season that, more than any other, should call us away from that endless pursuit to marvel over the fact that no matter how obscure or notorious we are in the eyes of the world, the Almighty God holds us in His gaze entirely-- not just our well-framed, well publicized exploits, but also our dirty deeds, our deepest desires, our uncelebrated virtues and secret vices, our unheralded sacrifices and unconfessed selfishness. 

We are seen in our entirety in a sort of divine Facebook feed that stretches from the dawn of time to the end of all things and contains every second of our conscious and unconscious existence.

 Lest the thought of that level of scrutiny drive you to despair, remember that we are not merely seen completely, but also loved intensely and entirely to the point that God condescended to trade eternity and omnipotence for the constraints of time and flesh on our behalf. “God loved the world so much that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”  John 3:16

God saw all the lovely and unlovely things about you, unfiltered, unsorted, uncovered, unedited and found you worth following—down to the brokenness of earth and through the barrenness of death so that He could invite you to truly know Him and ultimately live with Him forever.

To all of you whom we are privileged to know and care about on this earth, I pray you will find time to pull your gaze away from all the good things this season brings and find a quiet space to ponder the best news that ever broke upon any news feed anywhere at any time in history.  

As always, you are in our hearts and we hope that you will come and see us whenever life brings you close to our neck of the woods!  Merry Christmas!

“For the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” 2 Chronicles 16:9

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us,  even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved),  and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,  so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. “  Ephesians 2:4-7

*****************

How God Showed His Love to Us Through 

Unexpected Circumstances This Year

A 2018 Christmas Reflection 

by The Birmingham Family

Rebekah (23): 2018 did not go at all to plan. After finishing my coursework at Western Michigan University in the spring, I looked for an internship which was the last step towards finishing my degree. I applied to several and was turned down. Several other promising sites also didn’t accept me. 

As door after door was shut not just in my academics but also in my personal life, I cried out to God, asking what He was trying to teach me. The answer came quite clearly:  That behind every ‘no’ is a bigger ‘yes.’ Even though my plans may have changed, my purpose has not. Even if I don't know what I'm doing next year, I am still called to serve him here today. He has taught me that when I don't know the answer, He is still God. When I can't understand the reason, He is still good. When it's not what I had wanted, He gives more grace to accept no for an answer and seek His face and what He wants for my life. 

One of my favorite songs by Shane and Shane says, "Though You slay me, Yet I will praise you. Though You take from me,  I will bless your name. Though You ruin me, Still I will worship, Sing a song to the one who's all I need." 

Christina (20): 2018 has been quite the year for me. As I look back at my journal entries from 2018, I spot a theme. Hardship often brings gigantic blessings. The kind of hardship that cuts my selfish wants out and carves me into the woman God wants me to be. The hardship of not wanting to wait for good things but making myself do it anyway because the gems will be so much more precious at the end of the wait. The hardship of almost failing most of my classes last year, and then getting meds to help me concentrate which brought me from barely scraping by to becoming an A student this year. The hardship of losing some friendships and yet the blessing of cultivating stronger ones with the people who choose to stay with me. 

This year has not been easy, but I am blessed beyond what I deserve. One of my favorite quotes is, “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.” – C.S. Lewis

Elijah (16): Now that I think back on my year, it has been tougher than I remembered! First, this is my second year of high school and has been a challenge. I feel though that I have better embraced the responsibility that comes with school as well as the things that come with being an older brother. 

I also had quite a difficult struggle this summer. I was in the middle of baseball season when I fractured my spine. I was devastated that I could not finish my season of baseball with my team. God taught me through that one bad thing both patience and trusting him and his timing. He was in control and only three months later I was in physical therapy, and then in a couple weeks, back playing basketball. 

Though I may not be completely in shape for the season, it is better than being in a brace for life which my doctor said was very probable with many kinds of breaks. I have been blessed, and I am so grateful for those who helped me through.

Isaiah (13): This year I realized I need to try harder to be grateful for my brothers.  It is easy to see them as annoying, but here is what I like about them.  Elijah is good competition for me in…everything.  He always reminds me when I am doing something wrong (thanks, Elijah!) and helps me when I get off track.  Jude knows everything about everything about sports, which is nice, so I don’t have to look stuff up for myself.  Kaiden is good at making conversation and is pretty funny, but please don’t tell him I said so because I will never hear the end of it.  

I’m glad God gave me brothers.  Usually😊  Because I basically have three people to try to beat, which may help me rise to my full potential, and vice versa.
  
Jude (11): This year, I was playing on a great baseball team and we won every game and made it to the league championship and thought we would win no problem, but we lost. In spite of that, our coach paid for our entire team to go to a Whitecaps minor league game and we got to go out on the field with the players at the position we played on our league, which was fun. 

In August, my brother knocked my glasses off and they fell lens first on the cement and broke. It was two months until I got my new glasses. It was hard to wait but it made me thankful for my new glasses and being able to see. 

For Thanksgiving, we went to my cousin’s house and we had such a feast! I was also thankful that we got to spend time working together outside.

Kaiden (11): I almost got knocked out at basketball practice yesterday, but I didn’t. I’m thankful that God has kept me safe in sports. I am also grateful for Classical Conversations. We have a new tutor and I really like her. I’m also doing Essentials for the first time which is hard, but I enjoy playing the Battleship math game. I am also going to try out for Memory Masters. 

Keira (9): “I am thankful to God because He makes me brave.” –the words of a little girl who works hard to sort out all the sights and sounds and words and expectations that this world throws at her.  Yesterday, she stood with her classmates in front of a hundred parents at her 3rd grade Christmas concert.  She did not sing, and she barely blinked through five songs, but for her it was the emotional equivalent to any one of us giving an impromptu speech to the U.N General Assembly! And she did it! 

Keira was diagnosed with a form of autism this year, and this has helped us know how to go about helping her navigate life and learning.  She has a beautiful, loving, trusting heart and we are blessed by her every day.
  
Jamey and Sandra: At this time last year, we did not know that simply unloading some groceries would cause a disc to rupture in Jamey’s back compressing a nerve in his leg.  Spine surgery followed soon after, and then an unplanned “vacation” of 3-6 weeks for recovery.  

A week after returning to work part time, a bigger change was in store.  After 11 years of developing a combined pediatric and adult rheumatology practice, Jamey was told that his contract to practice at the Children’s Hospital would not be renewed.  The hospital had decided to no longer work with subcontracted employees, and Jamey was one of the ones let go. 

The timing of this massive career change could not have been much worse, with the recent forced time off and still being physically low.  The influx of Jamey’s pediatric patients created a situation at his private practice which made it clear that he would not be able to practice there in the long term, and so he made the difficult decision to part ways.   

The departure from two busy practices at the same time made it difficult to maintain continuity of care for many long-standing patients.  We had more than a few anxious moments this year, but also saw the provision of God and the overwhelming support of many colleagues and patients who sent notes and expressed their care and concern in unexpected and often touching ways.  God showed His great faithfulness to our family in both the known and the unknown.

Ultimately, all the changes opened the door for a new opportunity, and Jamey, a lifelong Ohio State Buckeye fan, began a brand new combined pediatric and adult rheumatology program through Metro Health, an affiliate hospital of the University of Michigan!  That irony is not lost on us!  

Jamey has ambitious long-term goals for how he hopes the program will develop, and a vision for an intensely patient-centered, holistic medical practice, filled with people who share the same goals.  The transition has left him busier than he has been at any time in his rheumatology career, but the prospect of growth and the level of support he has received make it all worthwhile.  
We are both thrilled and amazed at how the events of the year worked out to create a practice situation which is exactly what he has always dreamed of having but would probably never have sought out without an external push.  So, we are extremely grateful!

****************

A Poem On the Occasion of Finding Yet Another Snake in My House

Ode To Uninvited Guests

Beloved children, shut the door.
(I know I've mentioned this before).
Each time you manage to escape,
You leave the blessed door agape.
The heat blows out, the leaves blow in
And also, much to my chagrin,
Animals of every sort
Waltz in and wantonly cavort
In random corners, closets, drawers,
Entryways, and kitchen floors.
Reptiles, mammals, birds, and bugs,
Showing off their ugly mugs,
Sharing all our sacred spaces,
Chirping, buzzing, leaving "traces".

Your inability to close
The door is threatening my repose.
For instance, let us take this snake.
(Yes! Take her! Please! For heaven's sake!)
All I wanted was a snack.
I got instead, a heart attack.
While I was reaching toward a shelf
She casually introduced herself
And pointed to the friend beside her,
An obviously pregnant spider.
I did not think this very nice
Because it made me panic. Twice.
Enlisting help, I managed to
Re-acclimate the motley crew,
But in the process, sad to say,
My appetite went clean away.

I'll end up in the loony bin
If you keep letting wildlife in.
I'm growing jumpy, nervous, pale,
Hearing squeaks and seeing tails
Which may or may not really be
Existent in reality.
A bolted door, a fastened screen
Is all that's standing in between
A pleasant mom and one who shouts
And gasps and waves her hands about.

Choose you this day what you will do
'Cause if I'm going to run a zoo
I'll charge admission by the day,
Set up concessions, make you pay
Outrageous prices for your lunch,
Sell your toys to hire a bunch
Of carpenters and masons whom
Will cheerfully convert your room
To an authentic habitat
For all the horrid creatures that
You roll out the red carpet for

When you refuse to shut the door.

#truestory #havingdejavu #mayipresent #snakenumbertwo
😳

A Love Letter--Part 2

Every so often during my childhood, a man in our community would behave in such a way as to open my eyes to the idea that as a father and a husband, my dad was a standing stone in a torrent of temptations and "easy ways out".  

Among my classmates, there were more than a few being raised by single moms who were doing their best to do the jobs of two people.  More than a few girls I knew in high school were devastated by the abrupt abandonment of their daddies.

Several I knew had dads who were habitually unkind or unreliable, leaving them scared and angry.

Some had fathers who were present, but checked-out emotionally.  

Other stories filtered down about fathers who were crude and inappropriate, exposing their daughters to humiliation, leaving them stripped down and hurt and at the mercy of a hungry culture.  

In the same way that fresh air and good health are most noticeable by their absence, I had the privilege of being largely oblivious to the blessing of having a wonderful father when I was young.  Now that I am a parent, I am applying retroactive thankfulness to my own parents.  

Parenting is a hard job. Relentless. Joyous. Heartbreaking. Wonderful. Exhausting. Delightful. Overwhelming. Satisfying.

And if it is done well, then due to the lack of trauma and drama in their lives (and the presence of peace, happiness, and security) most often your children won't even notice how well you did until much later.

Such was the case with me, but gratitude is better late than never!

The following is my tribute to my daddy, who has been and continues to be so adept at his many roles as to make them look easy.

Dear Dad,

You have been many things in your life: Before I knew you, you were a son and a brother, a student, a paper boy, a truck driver.  I have known you as a father, as a husband to my mother, as a business man, a landlord, a property manager, an owner/operator, a college professor, a church deacon, an avid reader, a peacemaker, a joke teller, a dispenser of wisdom, a man of ideas and insight.

And I have known you as a farmer.  In fact, after "father", "farmer" is what I picture you as being. 

When I think of you in your element, I see you striding across one of your fields, a waiting combine rumbling in the background, or coming toward the house at dusk in your blue jeans and work boots, white t-shirt smeared with tractor grease, hands black, face streaked with a day's worth of field dust.  

You are a study in contrasts.  Your expression holds both weariness and excitement, worry and contentment, patience and eager expectation.  Your posture conveys a relaxed readiness.  

You stand like a giant in my estimation. My respect for you held me in check during my childhood--and yet you were my beloved and approachable daddy, whose affection and esteem I have never once doubted.  

It strikes me now that you have always seemed comfortable to live in the tension between opposites, and you move between them even now as if they all seem like home: tender and stern, concerned over us and confident in us, busy and restful, a safe-haven and a risk taker, a seeker of truth and a repository of wisdom. 

A business man and a family man.

A man of academia and a man of the soil.

I have sometimes wondered if the instincts which have made you such a great farmer are also the same ones that have made you a great father.  

I wonder if you have noticed the strong parallels between tending the land in your care, and stewarding the hearts in your home.  The two vocations support each other beautifully and you have lived them out faithfully by putting one foot in front of the other and putting your heart before God day after day after day for as long as I've known you.  

Here are just a few of the things you were mindful of, both on the farm and in our family:

1) Soil.

Every spring, I remember how closely you monitored our fields.  Before a single seed was sown, the temperature was checked and rechecked, the soil was tested for PH and nutrient content.  It was examined for signs of disease.  

At just the right time, the land was burned to cleanse it from any possibility of being infected by diseases or pests left over from the previous year.  It was cultivated and purged of roots and rocks.

So with me.  You took care to nurture the soil of my heart--to carefully turn over the hard parts, to remove stones of doubt and disbelief, to wait to speak until the moment when my spirit was warm enough and soft enough to open and receive the good words you wanted to plant.

As with farming, sometimes the seed and the soil did not work together perfectly, but the time you took to know me and to carefully consider the timing and type of words you spoke to me went a long way toward making me receptive to the habits and beliefs you wanted to grow in me. 

2) Seeds.

You were choosy with the seed you planted.  How well had it been stored?  How pure was it?  How quickly was it able to germinate?  Was it a good match for the field in question?

If any of the answers to those questions was "no" then the seed was not sown.

Likewise, you were careful with the messages you brought into our home.  Before images and words fell into our eyes and ears, they were run carefully through your head and your heart--examined for purity, for truth, for their ability to grow good fruit in our family.

You did not blindly accept the conveniently pre-packaged bundles of propaganda the culture was offering up because you weren't about to entrust our souls to the clever slogans and shiny pictures on the wrapper.

You and mom broke open every idea and looked for weeds among the grain, so that the worldview planted in us would have the best possible chance to produce a harvest of righteousness.

It took much time.  I'm sure you were criticized as being too picky, too particular, and maybe even a bit snobbish about your little garden of souls.  I'm sure your choices cost you more than we knew, but ultimately I think Dan and I felt that we could accept the truths you offered us, because we saw   you carefully test and trust those same seeds in your own lives.  

3) Season.

In farming, there are windows for sowing and spraying, for burning and tilling, for watching and waiting, and for reaping a harvest.  It doesn't look the same every year.  

It is weather dependent. It requires vigilant observation, readiness to act when the moment is right, and a willingness to stand back and wait.

A farmer doesn't take vacations in the summer because missing a window by even one day can mean a costly setback, or even the total loss of a crop.  

Sometimes when I was growing up, I must admit I wished you would take a vacation in your parenting. Sometimes I wanted to grow wild--or not grow at all.  But you were not willing to be a lazy parent any more than you were willing to be a lazy farmer.  

You showed during our formative years, and even now, how faithful you are to speak a word in season.  

Were there times when you spoke when you should have waited, or waited when you ought to have spoken?  Sure!  Just as, despite the best laid plans, there are sometimes miscalculations on the farm. But never did I doubt you were doing your best to be a faithful steward of either us or your land.  

And now that I am a parent, I can truly appreciate what delicate and subtle signals children send out for their mother and father to read and act on!  It is truly some of the hardest deciphering I have ever done and it only raises you in my estimation!

4) Waiting.

I have heard you and Dan talking about how many farmers work themselves out of profit and yield because they are not willing to simply stop at certain points and just wait for their plants and livestock to grow.  

Fussing over and tinkering with crops and cattle and equipment that don't really need anything but time to get bigger or more mature, can actually stunt or destroy them. 

But many farmers don't want to relinquish control to the rain and the sun and wait for the slow, patient unfolding of stem and leaf and bud.

And it always ends up costing them something.

So I have seen in my own parenting when I fuss over and drown my children with words and lessons and lectures, instead of letting the good seeds in their hearts take the time they need to mature.  

Maybe sometimes you sprayed too much, or over-fertilized or over-spent on the farm.

Maybe sometimes you did the same with us, but I also see now how much restraint you showed (and continue to show!)--not to the point of neglect, certainly, but for the intention of letting the truth take its time to unfold and take root in my heart.

Thank you for waiting for me all these years.

5) Guarding.

It is not enough to get the right seed in at the right time.  

I remember driving out through our fields with you sometimes.  You would put the truck in creeper gear and let me steer.  From time to time, you would jump out and walk, sweeping a giant net back and forth among the young plants as I bumped along beside you, and after a minute you would pause and dump a squirming, buzzing harvest of insects into the palm of your hand, studying the mass for certain harmful bugs--the arch enemies of your crop--and for others which were beneficial for pollination or for eating pests.

These routine sweeps would tell you when you might need to spray, or how well the bees were doing their good work, and you did the same sweeps of our hearts on our travels around the farm or as we worked alongside you during the summers.

In the winters, you made sure to take us kids along with you on errands and as "special guests" for the day at the university where you taught. Our conversations were plentiful and pleasant and I am sure you gathered from us a mix of wisdom and foolishness.

Field checks and heart checks were a normal and natural part of my growing up, and I see how intentionally they were done, and how gently and consistently the pests and weeds were identified and treated, allowing for both your crops and our hearts to grow strong and true.

6)  Serving.

Most days in summer, you were gone well before I woke up, and you were coming home as we were getting ready for bed.  I remember the tired in your eyes, the dirt on your t-shirt, the grease on your jeans.  

I remember your hands.  They were rough and brown, wide at the knuckles, nails blackened and sometimes split.

Not uncommonly, you would have a gash in your skin or your clothes where a tool had slipped during a repair.  Dirt gathered in the lines on your face and in the crooks of your elbows.

You outworked every one of us, every day of your life, tending to the hundreds of farm and field tasks that called for your diligent attention.  In the winters, you taught classes and mentored students, and then brought back piles of papers and tests to grade after dinner.  You owned and operated businesses on the side, bought and sold property, maintained our home, served in our church, and nurtured your wife and children.

Likewise, your parenting was relentless.  It still is.  Not for one moment have I thought you would do less than sacrifice your comfort and rest to meet our needs before you considered your own.  

Your example in this has been immensely important in my own parenting journey.  I hope my children remember me being up before them, asleep after them, earning and enjoying wrinkles and callouses and gray hairs and tired eyes for the joy of seeing them flourish and thrive.

7)  Sacrificing.

Farmers give up a lot.  Their sleep and their time is controlled by the demands of their livestock and crops.  They lay out a ton of effort on the front end of their endeavors and only see returns months later.  Maybe.    

They risk a tremendous amount of money and spend a tremendous amount of energy on things that often fail.  Machinery breaks.  A lot.  And almost always at inopportune moments. Pests and blight strike without warning.  Droughts hit and wipe out young plants.  Heavy rains fall and prevent the harvest from taking place.  Rising oil and gas prices raise the costs of production, eating up profits. Freak snowstorms or heat waves obliterate an entire year's work.  Diseases strike livestock, leaving them unmarketable.  Government regulations strangle farms without warning.  Markets collapse unexpectedly.  

Sometimes I wonder why anyone still farms at all,  but I'm so glad they do!  

They are a special sort of people, who for the hope of seeing a piece of dry earth yield a bountiful harvest, will sign up for the risk of heartache when it doesn't.

For the joy of blessing their fellow man with  healthful and plentiful foods, they bend their backs and pour out their own sweat and blood.

For the privilege of tending God's creation, they forgo many safer and more reliable means of earning a living for their families.  

You did that, Dad.  Some years it was wonderful and there was money left to improve our buildings and buy new equipment and still leave us with plenty.  

But some years it was awful.  I remember how you looked when whole fields of seed pods shattered before you could get the combine into them.  Or when beautiful little blossoms got bitten off before they could set seed at all.  Or when the the fickle market took the beautiful, brown mountains of seed that you had cut and cleaned and dried and made them almost worthless.

Why did you keep on farming?  Was it for the same reason you have kept on loving and guiding and nurturing and supporting me, even in the years when I was miserly and selfish, or neglectful, or foolish, or ungrateful?

I think it was.

It is interesting that the great "Love Passage" in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, doesn't spend any time at all describing whether the object of that love is worth loving.  

It doesn't say, "love is patient when there is some indication that the person will eventually come around to your way of thinking."

It doesn't say, "love is kind to people who aren't jerks."

It doesn't talk about love being protective of "people who are not engaged in routine foolishness", or trusting of "folks with a good moral track record and an A+ rating at the Better Business Bureau", or forgiving of "those who aren't prone to impulsivity and recklessness", or hopeful toward "those who know enough to come in out of the rain."

And boy, am I glad!  


I have seen that both a good parent and a good farmer are willing to endure a tremendous amount of risk and an equally tremendous amount of pain,
because for both, love wins. Period.

Farmers know going in that they very well might lose it all, but they love the land, they love being hands-on stewards of living things, and they love the opportunity to work intimately and co-creatively with the earth and its Maker.  

Likewise, a good parent is willing to embrace great risk in order to enter the sacred adventure of creating (or adopting) and nurturing another human being. 

Only something as all-consuming as love (in its truest sense) would make this level of sacrifice worthwhile. Love, by definition, is sacrifice (John 15:13), and Dad, I have seen you do that for your farm and for your family for as long as I can remember.


8) Sovereignty

I know there are farmers who do not have a relationship with God. We know some.  But I have observed something in many of them that I think your faith has saved you from.

It is a kind of desperation.  A need to control all the variables, to manipulate outcomes at all costs, and an inability to live peacefully in the land of "come what may".

I remember some farmers who grew bitter and hard whenever their land did.

I remember some trying to grab and grasp their neighbors prosperity in order to make up a shortfall in their own.

I remember some who cut corners and dealt harshly with their animals, or ran their equipment into the dust.

I remember some who made rash decisions out of panic and some who always suspected that they were being cheated.

But you taught us that God gave us dominion over the earth and that our job was to be stewards and caretakers.  

The land exists for our good and His glory.  We don't own it.  God does. We can't control it.  God does.  And so when we have done our best with it and given our all to it, and it turns around and rebels against us or closes itself off like a stone, we can leave it right there in God's sovereign care and we can rest.

We are not to panic. We are not to deal harshly with one another.  We are not to grasp after vain hope or make false promises or hedge our bets.

God is our hope and shield and He will hold us fast.

So you seemed with me.  Protective but not possessive.  Concerned but not consumed. Loving me very much but not worshipping me.

The balance is not easy to maintain, as I am learning every day, but I am grateful for your continuing example of how to relinquish the illusion of control of both my life circumstances and my children, and instead take rest in God.

9) Harvest

Harvest was one of the most exciting times of the year.  Everyone's spirits were high and we all wanted to be at the field to watch the giant combines devour endless rows of yellow grass and spit out glistening waterfalls of shiny, brown seed into waiting wagons.  

It was the culmination of a long season of hard work, waiting, and wondering and no farmer I ever knew would have missed having a part in bringing in the fruit of his labor.  

When it went well and the price was high and the seeds were fat, it was a joyful, almost giddy experience.  When it was thin, there was still satisfaction in ending a hard thing well.  

Dad, I have always appreciated the fact that you and mom have wanted to "enjoy the harvest" with my family and Dan's.  I am sure there are decisions we made that made you cringe (there probably still are), and I know there are things you would have done differently, but you have wanted to be here in the midst of our lives through thick and thin.  

You are hopefully taking joy in the work of your hands and seeing good fruit from your labors.  We are so glad you did not shake the dust off, wave goodbye, and retire to the golf course in parts unknown.  

I am glad that you are still working your farm up north AND still planting wisdom and love in the hearts of your children and grandchildren.  

I am glad that you are still getting your hands dirty and coming in with tired eyes and working early and late.  

I am glad you still want to nurture and care for the lives and the land God has given you, and I hope you will continue to do so for many, many years.  

Most of all, I am glad that YOU are my farmer-father.  I could not have been blessed with a better one and I love you very much.

Happy Father's Day!💕