Swimming!
That's the nearly unanimous answer I get when I ask kids the question, "What was your favorite part of youth camp?" After 51 weeks full of prayer, fundraising and organizing, coordinating with camp directors, hunting down parents for signatures on forms, renting vans or a bus, driving back and forth through Washington DC traffic, and the myriad of other things we do all year to get kids out of the neighborhood and into a potentially life-changing week out of the city with unique activities and powerful encounters with God, their favorite part of the week was the swimming.
So, when stopped on the freeway for hour number three on the 78 mile drive home, I start to think that next year my life would be happier and theirs would be just as good if, instead of camp, I rented the YMCA for a couple of hours and let them all just swim.
But then there was that one kid one year who didn't say "swimming." He said, "'votions."
At first I didn't know what he was talking about. "You know, them 'votions we do in the cabin each night. Them was my favorite thing at camp," he clarified.
"What made them your favorite?"
"Well, we's all still and quiet and stuff and we gets to talk a little and think a lot about God and life and, you know, stuff like that. It's like God is so real there and we know we're all gonna be OK."
The other boys in the van piped in, "Yeah, I liked that, too. We don't get to do stuff like that when we're at home."
When I've been blessed with the opportunity to get far away from my world for a few days, I must confess that my first response when asked about the trip usually has something to do with a bargain price or free upgrade (or both!) on a rental car. No matter how many amazing places He lets me go or activities He lets me experience, my first words of praise are usually about a rental car.
Does He sometimes think, "Next year I'll just help him find a bargain on a convertible at BWI and he can drive to Scranton and back"?
I'm pretty sure He doesn't think that way. But early in my conversations it wouldn't hurt to acknowledge the blessing of time to think about God and life and, you know, stuff like that which help me know that God is so real and that I'm gonna be OK.
Of course, if I do, then I'll be in some deeper conversation than I might want to have at that moment. Plus, after some true encounters with the Holy I need time to process my experiences before I can put words to them. And besides, the whole thing wouldn't have been near as fun without the great deal on the rental car.
Just like camp wouldn't be near as fun without time at the pool. Plus it takes time for kids to put words to their camp experiences. And they're tired and dirty and hungry and sad to be leaving which isn't exactly a time when any of us want to delve into deeper conversation.
Swimming.
It's a good answer. Plus I know that once laundry is done and there's been a couple of good night's rest and we're sitting around the table with a bowls of ice cream or slices of pizza (or both!), the conversations might just give some hints that the 51 weeks full of prayer, fundraising and organizing, coordinating with camp directors, hunting down parents for signatures on forms, renting vans or a bus, driving back and forth through Washington DC traffic, and the myriad of other things we did actually provided some life-changing opportunities to swim out into the deep with God.
Besides, we got kicked out of the YMCA last time we rented it.
Lord, let praise of You that is in my heart be on my lips and in my deeds that all might see and know Your goodness.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Failure
I wanted him to die.
That was a new feeling for me. It wasn't because he had done anything particularly bad to me. It wasn't that I even disliked him. As he lay in his bed gasping for air I wanted him to stop fighting and just let it all end.
I could hardly stand to be in the room much less look at him. The reason was that in that bed I saw our world's failures.
The failure of the medical system was in that bed. The multiple diseases that ravaged his body had been left to progress or had received minimal care as he had no insurance and no way to pay.
The failure of social services was in that bed. He easily qualified for a variety of community services but was unable to negotiate the system. By the time I had met him several years earlier, he had given up trying for some services and had become paranoid of the rest.
The failure of the free market was in that bed. He'd never been quite good enough for the jobs that were out there. His limited intellectual capacity and an occasional fight at work were more than supervisors were willing to put up with. He was too smart to get into service programs but not smart enough to make it through job training.
The failure of mental health care was in that bed. Living the repeatedly traumatic life he did any of us would need counseling and meds. He received neither. His DNA didn't help the situation, either. He was smart enough to know that the system could inflict more anguish than what he was experiencing outside it.
The failure of our schools was in that bed. He had been shuffled through and passed along and given a custodial education until he was old enough to drop out. He never had any reason to look back after his 16th birthday.
The failure of his family was in that bed. They were especially gifted in reinforcing bad behaviors and inflicting guilt to manipulate others. They were all able to survive but none were able to thrive.
The failure of the church was in that bed. He had come to us many times for help. We had tried to welcome him into the fellowship. We were never able to help enough to make much of a difference other than an occasional meal and his temper challenged the group's need for safety.
As he looked up at me, gasping for one of his last breaths, I -- we -- society, were all failing him once again. And in the darkness of my mind I somehow convinced myself that once he died that all the problems would die with him and we could all continue on with our little comfortable lives. If the problems were to go away, then he needed to go away.
But the volunteer hospice nurse kept coming through the room. She didn't know all the problems that lead up to this point or, if she did, she didn't seem to be too worried about them. She simply provided dignity and honor and care and actually stayed on after her shift ended for the day. For once in his life someone was making sure that he would not be failed again.
And she didn't seem too worried about the time of death. That would be handled by the One who had the next shift. For on her shift, like mine, she needed to be present and create a place of dignity for a stranger in need.
When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me. Whenever you did it for any of my people, no matter how unimportant they seemed, you did it for me. (Matthew 25:35-36, 40 CEV)
For a few hours at the end of his life he began to experience the healing and restoring welcome of the Christ that he would soon receive in its fullness.
And he didn't take the failings with him. Instead he left them here so that I -- we -- society might be blessed with repentance and grace and dependence on an undying Love that never fails.
Lord, let me recognize Your grace and mercy upon me as I go through this day. Help me live it out by fully welcoming others as I would You.
That was a new feeling for me. It wasn't because he had done anything particularly bad to me. It wasn't that I even disliked him. As he lay in his bed gasping for air I wanted him to stop fighting and just let it all end.
I could hardly stand to be in the room much less look at him. The reason was that in that bed I saw our world's failures.
The failure of the medical system was in that bed. The multiple diseases that ravaged his body had been left to progress or had received minimal care as he had no insurance and no way to pay.
The failure of social services was in that bed. He easily qualified for a variety of community services but was unable to negotiate the system. By the time I had met him several years earlier, he had given up trying for some services and had become paranoid of the rest.
The failure of the free market was in that bed. He'd never been quite good enough for the jobs that were out there. His limited intellectual capacity and an occasional fight at work were more than supervisors were willing to put up with. He was too smart to get into service programs but not smart enough to make it through job training.
The failure of mental health care was in that bed. Living the repeatedly traumatic life he did any of us would need counseling and meds. He received neither. His DNA didn't help the situation, either. He was smart enough to know that the system could inflict more anguish than what he was experiencing outside it.
The failure of our schools was in that bed. He had been shuffled through and passed along and given a custodial education until he was old enough to drop out. He never had any reason to look back after his 16th birthday.
The failure of his family was in that bed. They were especially gifted in reinforcing bad behaviors and inflicting guilt to manipulate others. They were all able to survive but none were able to thrive.
The failure of the church was in that bed. He had come to us many times for help. We had tried to welcome him into the fellowship. We were never able to help enough to make much of a difference other than an occasional meal and his temper challenged the group's need for safety.
As he looked up at me, gasping for one of his last breaths, I -- we -- society, were all failing him once again. And in the darkness of my mind I somehow convinced myself that once he died that all the problems would die with him and we could all continue on with our little comfortable lives. If the problems were to go away, then he needed to go away.
But the volunteer hospice nurse kept coming through the room. She didn't know all the problems that lead up to this point or, if she did, she didn't seem to be too worried about them. She simply provided dignity and honor and care and actually stayed on after her shift ended for the day. For once in his life someone was making sure that he would not be failed again.
And she didn't seem too worried about the time of death. That would be handled by the One who had the next shift. For on her shift, like mine, she needed to be present and create a place of dignity for a stranger in need.
When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me. Whenever you did it for any of my people, no matter how unimportant they seemed, you did it for me. (Matthew 25:35-36, 40 CEV)
For a few hours at the end of his life he began to experience the healing and restoring welcome of the Christ that he would soon receive in its fullness.
And he didn't take the failings with him. Instead he left them here so that I -- we -- society might be blessed with repentance and grace and dependence on an undying Love that never fails.
Lord, let me recognize Your grace and mercy upon me as I go through this day. Help me live it out by fully welcoming others as I would You.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Chirp
12 inches. That's how far we live from our neighbors. The common walls that separate our houses are 12 inches thick in our 'hood.
Most of the time it's not so bad. 12 inches of brick muffles a decent percent of the noise and I only know what the neighbors are having for dinner if it's especially spicy.
Of course, things are different in the summertime. Many of us don't have air conditioning so our windows are wide open all the time. The noise of the streets and nearby houses echo through each others homes.
So it was a pleasant surprise when everything was quiet as I got in bed that night. The fresh air of the open windows brought delight to my soul. The thought of a few moments of peace and calm before drifting off to sleep was quite a treat.
Just as I got comfortable in bed I heard it. You know the sound. It's that little electronic chirp that smoke detectors put out when they're low on battery power.
chirp.
40 seconds of silence.
chirp.
Trying to wish it away.
chirp.
Get up and check all the smoke alarms in the house.
silence.
Go back to bed.
chirp.
Yes, one of my neighbors' smoke detectors needed a new battery. I don't know if they weren't home or if they were really sound sleepers or if they just didn't care. But the one night that the street wasn't filled with noise from cars and radios and people . . .
chirp.
Jesus didn't answer my prayers the way I had hoped that night. By 3:00 a.m. I was requesting the hammer of God to come smash that thing and send it to its glory.
chirp.
Yes, sometimes 12 inches is a little too close, especially when the windows are open. In the darkness with both my and my neighbors' windows open it was clear that something needed to be done.
Sometimes there are annoying little chirps in my soul at night, too. Maybe I'm not paying attention or am sound asleep or am so disconnected with my own inner self that I don't notice or don't care about the chirping. Maybe I do notice but feel helpless in trying to make it stop.
Thankfully, God calls us to both times of gathering in close proximity and times of rest. When I get together with people of faith for a time of rest from regular responsibilities, like at a retreat or camp, I have the chance to be physically closer than normal. If things go well, I'm likely to open up the windows of my soul to let a fresh Wind in.
And it's then that I find it easier to hear the low battery chirp in me. It's in the quiet time together that I can most know where I need to let go of old problems and let new Power come in. But if I'm still unable to hear it, hopefully a nearby friend with his soul's window open will hear the chirp from my low batteries and will administer a recharge.
Of course, sometimes in those settings I learn that my batteries are holding sufficient voltage. That's when I can sometimes hear the low-battery chirp in a neighbor's inner life. Then it's time for me to help them to gain a new charge.
For as we care for ourselves and for one another this way, we quiet the chirps and let a Peace that passes understanding come in. Then we can truly rest in Him and disperse to our daily lives renewed.
Revive me, O Lord, and use me to bring restoration to others.
Most of the time it's not so bad. 12 inches of brick muffles a decent percent of the noise and I only know what the neighbors are having for dinner if it's especially spicy.
Of course, things are different in the summertime. Many of us don't have air conditioning so our windows are wide open all the time. The noise of the streets and nearby houses echo through each others homes.
So it was a pleasant surprise when everything was quiet as I got in bed that night. The fresh air of the open windows brought delight to my soul. The thought of a few moments of peace and calm before drifting off to sleep was quite a treat.
Just as I got comfortable in bed I heard it. You know the sound. It's that little electronic chirp that smoke detectors put out when they're low on battery power.
chirp.
40 seconds of silence.
chirp.
Trying to wish it away.
chirp.
Get up and check all the smoke alarms in the house.
silence.
Go back to bed.
chirp.
Yes, one of my neighbors' smoke detectors needed a new battery. I don't know if they weren't home or if they were really sound sleepers or if they just didn't care. But the one night that the street wasn't filled with noise from cars and radios and people . . .
chirp.
Jesus didn't answer my prayers the way I had hoped that night. By 3:00 a.m. I was requesting the hammer of God to come smash that thing and send it to its glory.
chirp.
Yes, sometimes 12 inches is a little too close, especially when the windows are open. In the darkness with both my and my neighbors' windows open it was clear that something needed to be done.
Sometimes there are annoying little chirps in my soul at night, too. Maybe I'm not paying attention or am sound asleep or am so disconnected with my own inner self that I don't notice or don't care about the chirping. Maybe I do notice but feel helpless in trying to make it stop.
Thankfully, God calls us to both times of gathering in close proximity and times of rest. When I get together with people of faith for a time of rest from regular responsibilities, like at a retreat or camp, I have the chance to be physically closer than normal. If things go well, I'm likely to open up the windows of my soul to let a fresh Wind in.
And it's then that I find it easier to hear the low battery chirp in me. It's in the quiet time together that I can most know where I need to let go of old problems and let new Power come in. But if I'm still unable to hear it, hopefully a nearby friend with his soul's window open will hear the chirp from my low batteries and will administer a recharge.
Of course, sometimes in those settings I learn that my batteries are holding sufficient voltage. That's when I can sometimes hear the low-battery chirp in a neighbor's inner life. Then it's time for me to help them to gain a new charge.
For as we care for ourselves and for one another this way, we quiet the chirps and let a Peace that passes understanding come in. Then we can truly rest in Him and disperse to our daily lives renewed.
Revive me, O Lord, and use me to bring restoration to others.
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