Destination Discipline

I love when life is wonderful in its mystery. Too often I fall into the pattern of taking each day for granted. I climb out of bed, exercise, shower, hug my boys and head off to work. There I experience the ease many people long for. I sit or stand at my desk and perform tasks and get paid a decent wage. Then I get in my (mostly-reliable) car and drive home where I experience a meal that fills my belly, a bed that is comfortable and a roof that keeps me warm and dry. Unlike so many others, I am blessed to express my faith and to live and love as a free person. God bless the USA!

This morning, however, I did not bounce out of bed. After a sketchy night of not-much-sleep, I drug myself from under the covers and limped to the restroom. My body felt ancient and leathery. I was weak–sick even, because after several days of fighting a nasty cold-like virus, I feel like the inside of a drain pipe.

Still, after piddling around in the kitchen I pulled on my workout clothes–determined to get my blood pumping. The reason for this was simple; I have a new pair of running shoes! I found myself reciting the familiar words, “On your mark, get set, GO!” And I was off.

Normally I feel better after the first mile–not so today. But once I’m committed, nothing short of fainting will stop me. So I pressed forward. My thoughts returned to the letter my Marine Recruit sent several days ago. To be honest, it’s all I can think about.

“Dear Mother,

This is my last letter before I see you on graduation. It’s finals week and we’re going to be very busy so no more letters. This is it! We got this week and the crucible. I’d like prayer for all of it. I have shin splints again and I’m toughing it out because there have been 4 people who have gone to medical and they are going to be here a lot longer. I’ll be fine when it’s over but in the meantime it’s rough.

I’d rather be home. Well, I’ll see you soon and I love you all very much.”

My son used to get shin splints when he played soccer. They were the bane of his existence. So to hear that they’ve returned is difficult for me. I can’t give him advice. I can’t even talk to him. All I can do is pray. It’s the reason I was awake at 3:45 am this morning. The worry wart in me was working over time, and there was nothing I could do to stop that hideous fungi from wracking my brain. So I lay there under my covers and prayed like a condemned man before the hanging.

I was jogging up a hill with all of the fervor of a fish flopping on dry land as I listened to my Bible. I was listening to the story of Moses and the Israelites–who were trying to leave Egypt for The Promised Land. I kept wondering why they are called Israelites–after Israel(or Jacob) and not Abraham. Why weren’t they called Abrahamites? These are the questions I ask God when my brain is in a funk. After all, it was Jacob who stole Esau’s blessing and he was kind of a pansy of a dad. So how did a whole nation get named after him? Anyway, it occurred to me that I am no different than those people wandering through the desert(dessert!) after God did all those terrible things to Pharoah to free them from slavery. It seems they didn’t learn anything. So I’m worrying, when I shouldn’t be, and fretting over the ice cream I ate last night and basically not trusting God at all because I’ve gained some weight and my son has shin splints and life is just not going the way I want it to. And that is basically how I finished my jog/limp/walk–dripping with perspiration and despair–despite my sparkly new running shoes.

Boy am I a big baby. I should have just written I’m a loser-whiny-baby and saved my readers some time.

After a shower, a nice sulk, and some hot tea, I decided to run errands. And that is when I met Joan Smith.

I was standing outside The Salvation Army Store when this elderly woman began chatting at me. I say “at me” because I was nose deep in a bin trying to find a backpack for my youngest child. I was tired and crabby and hungry because it was 2:00 pm and I hadn’t eaten anything yet. After a few minutes I gave up my scavenger hunt and entered into the conversation. And I have to admit, Joan Smith is probably the most interesting person I have ever randomly met. She is 71 years old. She used to be a cop until a drunk driver crashed into her and nearly killed her(not once in the conversation did she complain). She currently works at an auto body shop in West County. She has white hair, is missing many front teeth and has tough, red skin and a hunched back from all the surgeries. But more importantly she is whip smart and as kind as a Golden Retriever. She told me how for many years she has been passionate about helping disadvantaged children and used to work at a home that took care of them. She told me story after story about helping specific boys the rest of the world had given up on, and how in her spare time she still buys and repairs bicycles to give to them as gifts(on her own dime). She mentioned her age because she said she is still riding a mountain bike and loves it. But the coolest thing Joan did was tell me about the poor and forgotten people in the world that she meets on a daily basis and how she helps them, but more importantly, how they help her.

“I talk to people wherever I go because I think it’s important,” She said. “Community is not about how much money you have, it’s about how much you take care of another person.” And I just stood there slack-jawed, in awe of this wonderful stranger-of-my-own-heart as she told me the story of a homeless man she met who didn’t have more than a few dollars to his name and asked for her help to buy some Ramen noodles so he wouldn’t starve. And she said, “You know, Ramen Noodles are filled with salt and aren’t very good for you, still, I bought them and gave him $5.00. I would have given him more but it’s all the money I had. In turn, he told me about Jesus.”

So I gave her my card and she gave me this in return…a hand scrawled poem that I will cherish until the day I die.

It’s when your hands are empty that you find a way.
It’s when you see only darkness that you must pray.
It’s–you have only 2.00 dollars and a coupon for your brother’s meal.
It’s when he shows you Jesus that you know God’s real.

And I can’t stop thinking about her and how she loved on me for the hour we spent talking. Did she see how tattered and threadbare my heart was? Like a bloodhound seeking out the sad and lonely soul, she found me and covered all my cold places with her warmth. And it seems like she was an angel–except she gave me her phone number and promised to have lunch with me soon. But I do know one thing, God sent her when I most needed a friend.

Tonight I danced around the yard with my boxer dog, Tank. One of my neighbor’s leaned out of her door and shouted, “Are you having fun over there?”

“You bet!” I said.

And I took this picture. And I thanked God for his goodness and his grace. I may never solve my eating problem. I will probably always be a worrier. I won’t always be able to help my sons when I want to. But God loves me and that’s all that really matters; loving and being loved. What wonderful grace!

I woke up feeling groggy this morning. Thanksgiving leftovers have taken their toll and my body was soggy and sticky with sweets. I suppose the cold and cloudy day might have been a deterrent. I could have climbed back into bed after letting the dogs out and snuggled into the covers with a good book. I have a dozen on my night stand after all. But I know my body, and if I were to do that I would end up feeling sluggish and icky all day. I had a very important event to attend in the afternoon so I socked it to the chilly air and got at it.

The thermometer read 38 degrees and I braced myself for the wind. You see, I desperately wanted to ride my bike but I have never gone out when it was that cold before. I felt sufficiently layered with gloves and ear covers and sped down the hill by my house with gusto. I figured that worst case scenario–my fingers would go numb and I’d have to turn right around and head back. But when the cold started to sting I found myself reluctant to return home. I flexed my fingers and pumped my feet. I pushed up hills and waved to passersby. Unlike every other bike ride I’ve done this year, I saw no other cyclists on the roads–only frazzled drivers–and none of them waved back when I lifted my hand in a friendly gesture.

“I get the feeling that I’m living in sci-fi. I get the feeling that my weapons are low-fi.”Switchfoot “War Inside”

The words and music streamed through my earbuds as I pedaled to the beat. I thought about how bland and blank the sky was. No blue. No white fluffy clouds. Only cold. Bitter, audacious, cold. So why, when I had felt like gum on the bottom of a shoe only minutes before, did I suddenly feel as if I could fly? I don’t really understand what it is about riding my bicycle that makes me feel so great. I supposed I could “adult” and talk about endorphins and aerobic exercise. I could talk about brain activity in correlation to oxygen levels, but that all seems rather cerebral. The truth is, every time I jump on my bike and take off down a hill, I am 10 years old again at the top of Blackwood Drive in Florissant. I’ve got my right foot on the pedal of my light purple Huffy bike. I am flicking the lavender tassles and adjusting the stuffed animals in my white plastic basket. I can see my little sister off in the distance–her blond pony tail blowing in the wind. My best friend, Shelly, is pulling up behind me and we are preparing to race to the bottom. If I’m lucky, I’ll beat her. If I’m not, I’ll try again. And then we’re off and I’m flying like a bird.

“I can feel it building up inside. The images that play inside my mind. The dreams that I’ve been dreaming all my life. The colors that live outside the lines.”Switchfoot “Back to the Beginning”

I’m somewhere around Mid Rivers Mall–about 30 minutes into my ride–when I hit my stride. Just a few weeks ago traffic at 9:00am on Saturday morning would have been nonexistent, but today the cars were like pill bugs–busy little gray insects zooming from point A to point B while hardly noticing the crazy white woman on her light blue Jamis bike pedaling like a pro and harmonizing to the soundtrack of her life: Switchfoot. And somehow the cold just felt less. On one of the busiest shopping days of the year I was “wasting time” riding my bike around and past the stores rather than rushing into them. Simple as that thought is, it gave me so much perspective about my life.

I sped down the country roads of St. Peters with abandon. I coasted into Lakeside Park. The great blue herons were fishing. The hawks glided and landed with a wary eye in my direction. And all around me the cacophony of motion served as an expression of the exultation I felt in my soul. It wasn’t the most visually spectacular day or the most physically comfortable. But today was brilliant in its simplicity. And in some ways, it was perfect.

I suppose I could have stayed in bed an extra hour. I could have caught up on dishes. I could have even made waffles and bacon. None of those things are bad. But I’m glad I braved the cold air. I may be a dreamer, but today was a beautiful day for a ride on my bicycle.

I had dinner with a friend last night that I don’t know very well. From past experience I know there is always that awkward moment when you aren’t sure what to say and you try to fill the empty void with words. I went into that meal bound and determined not to commit that faux pas. I am learning that the discipline of listening–really listening–takes effort. So often in past years I have seen my tendency to interrupt and talk over as opposed to trying to understand other points of view. Last night I tried to set all of those bad habits aside and just be still.

I say all of this to note that at one point in the conversation I brought up the corruption of the human heart. I mentioned that I have found hatred and murder present in my own heart and have struggled to wrest them from my psyche. Also, I said that I have dealt with this because I have been so deeply betrayed by people I cared for and called friends. I said, “That is why I love Jesus. He has always been faithful.”

The person I was eating with said that Christians as a whole are responsible for most of the mass murders in America and I found that curious. When I consider who Christ was and what he taught while on earth, it occurs to me that people who study his teachings know he never advocated such behavior. However, people are prone to corruption and, for various reasons, will twist and corrupt what the Bible says to suit their motives–which is how we end up with people like David Koresh and The Branch Davidians. Only truly corrupt people would twist God’s word into condoning the rape of a 13 year old girl and the subsequent murder of 79 people. With all of that in mind, I feel pretty certain my friend doesn’t understand at all where I’m coming from as a follower of Jesus.

Still, I’ve been thinking about our conversation today as I participated in the American tradition of thanking God for my blessings. I say “American” because I invited my Chinese friend to spend the day with my family and we had many conversations about Chinese customs, including the Mid-Autumn festival which consists of lunar worship and the consumption of Mooncakes. Thanksgiving appeared to her to be very much the same as this Chinese custom. People gather around the tables with copious amounts of food and eat themselves silly. The only difference is that in my family we pray to God before we eat, and thank Him for providing the food. She has asked many questions about this custom because we spend a lot of time together and I do my best to explain, but much like my friend from yesterday, she simply doesn’t understand.

When it comes to Christians, many misconceptions abound from those who don’t follow Christ’s teachings, and it can be quite a big hurdle to cross for the friendship to progress. For instance, how do I explain that I love a being I can’t see? How do I know he is real? I mean, it does look rather kooky from an outsider looking in. So really, how am I different than David Koresh in the grand scheme of things? Don’t I act on my beliefs and use God to justify my behavior?

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.” -Jesus in John 14:1

When I say that I am a Christian, it means that I follow Christ. I’m not a good person. I am ravaged with sin. The only difference I can see between me and someone who does not believe that Jesus was the son of God, is that I am forgiven and healed of these sins and that one day I will reside with Him in Heaven.

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live.” -Jesus in John 14:18-19

So what does Jesus expect of me? Does he want me to start the next holy war and murder people? Since “Christians” have this reputation for murdering and causing a great commotion in the world because of their beliefs, where do I stand on that issue?

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you.” -Jesus in John 15:12-14

Jesus told his disciples this and then he went and endured torture, died on the cross, and rose from the dead to prove that he was who he said he was. So it follows with me that if I love Jesus and follow his teachings, I will be the one giving up my life, not the other way around. People can claim to be “Christian” all day long, but if they take life away from another human being–if they make their wishes more important than others–if they wound rather than bind up and heal–they do not follow the same Jesus I believe in.

Today was Thanksgiving. I ate too much food. I enjoyed the fellowship of my family. I considered that my oldest son was probably denied both of these simple American traditions and it grieved me. I miss him. But today I also know that my son is a follower of Jesus. I don’t hold my son in my arms at this moment in time, but I know that he rests in the arms of Jesus. No matter what his day consisted of, I know that he is safe there.

Today was Thanksgiving. Today, the thing I was most thankful for was not a thing, it was a person. And His name is Jesus. Maybe that’s a little simplistic to some folks, but it’s who I am. He is the only cause of anything good that comes out of me.

I don’t always think very fast on my feet. I’m not very clever in conversation and I suppose I could argue better about why I believe the things I believe. But I’m going to rest in the knowledge that I may never be a good orator, but as long as I am a faithful lover of people who is willing to lay down my life for others, I am being true to the teachings of the one whose name I profess to believe in.